


The True Foe

by chss



Series: The True Foe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Jon Snow isn't called Jon Snow, King Rhaegar Targaryen, No Robert's Rebellion, Queen Elia Martell, Queen Lyanna Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Targaryen Incest, The Prince That Was Promised, The War for the Dawn, Various Other Minor Pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 147,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chss/pseuds/chss
Summary: Born into a realm that has long been preparing for the battles to come, the heirs to House Targaryen now have to face their fates. Between attempts at diplomacy, sorcerous exploits, and a wholly unwelcome war among men, their plans are somewhat derailed.An AU where Robert's Rebellion never happened and the Iron Throne knows that the Others are coming.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte - Relationship, minor Daenerys Targaryen/Daario Naharis - Relationship
Series: The True Foe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739527
Comments: 907
Kudos: 420





	1. They Who Were Promised I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a sequel to Father, Brother, King. You may not need to read all 150k+ words of it, though (unless you want to, in which case: please go ahead).  
> Father, Brother, King is about Rhaegar, Elia, and Lyanna and ends in 282 AC. The True Foe picks up 17 years later. We're very much in AU territory here, and I will try to keep explaining changes in the end notes of chapters. You'll also find a rundown of some more of the major points at the end of this chapter, but here is the completely bare-bones version that should help make it make sense:  
> \- Robert's Rebellion didn't happen  
> \- Rhaegar is king and married to both Elia and Lyanna  
> \- House Targaryen has 3 dragons  
> \- Jon Snow isn't called Jon Snow  
> \- there's more magic  
> \- everyone has known about the Others returning for a generation now
> 
> Warnings: Graphic violence, descriptions of characters cutting themselves for the purposes of blood magic, a dead baby (not killed by anyone), physical and psychological torture, non-explicit rape and rape by proxy – the last few mostly at the hands of the human villain.
> 
> Also, often ruthless and unabashedly incestuous Targaryens with little regard for monogamy as a concept.

**Part I: The Living**

_Castle Black, the 6 th moon of the year 299 AC_

The great iron gate to the Wall creaked as it was pulled up, finally coming to a rest at the top. Through it stepped five representatives of the free folk, two sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, a white direwolf, and a prince.

They took in their surroundings. The wildlings were suspicious; half expecting to be cut down in this instant. The black brothers were obviously relieved, both exhaling breaths they'd been holding for too long. The direwolf sniffed the air.

The prince looked around, seeing many men swarming around and busy with their tasks, but did not spy the Lord Commander, the First Ranger, or the maester. “Some welcome”, he murmured.

One of the black brothers froze, looking in the opposite direction of the prince and tapping his shoulder. “Shit, Jae”, he said, and bowed the way he was facing.

Jaehaerys Targaryen closed his eyes. If Creg was bowing, that meant he was looking at a member of his family. And he'd been hoping for at least a few days of rest.

Reluctantly, he turned to look up the King's Tower. There, leaning on the wooden balustrade by the entrance, stood the most beautiful woman in the world. Gentle locks of silver-gold hair framed an inhumanly perfect face and eyes he knew to be of a deep violet. She wore a vair cloak over a black velvet gown and, most likely, leather breaches. There was a smirk on her face, and she beckoned him closer with a hand gloved in what could only be the most supple sheepskin leather.

Creg elbowed Pyp, who bowed hastily. “Who is _that_?”, Ygritte asked.

He took a step forward. “Dear aunt!”, Jaehaerys shouted. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Had I known that your magnificent presence awaited me, I would have hurried.”

He could see her smirk turn into a grin. “Wish I could say the same”, she replied. “And yet, here you are, unshaven and wearing rags wholly unbefitting of a prince. I can smell you from up here, too.”

He clutched at his heart as he walked up the steps. “How can such cruel words pass your loveliest of lips? You devastate me.”

“The truth must be spoken even if cruel. Had I met you in a better state, I would have been more gentle.”

Jaehaerys came to a stop before her, drinking in the sight. He hadn't even known when they'd see each other again.

She curtseyed, he bowed. Then a wide, genuine smile lit up Dany's face, and they hugged each other tightly.

“It is good to see you”, she said into his ear. “Though you really do look a mess.”

He pulled away slightly, resisting the urge to press his face to hers. “What did you expect? I've been trodding around beyond the Wall for two moons.”

She shrugged. “I did mean it when I mentioned the smell. Did you bathe _once_?”

Once, exactly. In a cave. It hadn't even been that long ago. “What are you doing here?”, he asked.

“I will explain once you have cleaned up.” Then, she strode down the stairs. “So who are your companions?”

Fearing disaster, he hurried after her. “Oh, I have met you before”, she said when she reached the group, standing before Creg. That was still very safe.

“Cregan Snow, Your Grace”, his cousin said with his castle-raised manners, taking her outstretched hand to kiss the air above it. “You may remember me from Winterfell.”

“Lord Brandon's natural son, of course.” His, and Lady Barbrey's. “And I certainly remember your wonderful friend.” Ghost came up to her and sniffed Dany's hand, likely disturbed by the smell of dragon. Still, he let her scratch him behind the ears.

Jaehaerys next introduced Pyp, who stammered his way through. Like most black brothers of common origin, he wasn't used to interacting with a woman of such high birth.

Then, it came to Tormund, and the prince dutifully recited his countless titles. To his relief, the warrior refrained from any inappropriate remarks. He explained that Sigorn was akin to a wildling noble, though Dany's “well met, my lord” only served to confuse him. Jaehaerys gave the names of the other two who'd survived from Rattleshirt's band, and finally, Ygritte.

“This”, he ultimately explained, “is the Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

“So you're Jon's aunt?”, Ygritte asked, eyes darting over Dany's face.

That got him a confused look. “Jon?”

He shrugged. “Many of those both at and beyond the Wall find it easier than my real name.”

Dany slightly shook her head. “I imagine Lord Connington would be honoured. But yes, goodw- Ygritte, I am the prince's aunt. I know this is confusing, as we do not only look similar in age but were, in fact, born at exactly the same time – but my mother was very young when she had Jaehaerys' royal father, and quite a lot older when she had me.”

That wasn't why Ygritte had asked, but he wasn't about to point this out. “Now”, he said, “I must speak to the Lord Commander, see to Rhovio -”

“You must have a bath”, Dany interrupted. “And then we will speak on family matters. You should know that I was given your quarters in your absence, but I am sure we can find a solution to that.”

The King's Tower had a sufficient amount of rooms, though they wouldn't need them. “Convincing as always, dear aunt. Creg, you talk to the Old Bear.” He was his steward, anyway, at least when the prince wasn't dragging him beyond the Wall.

To be fair, the bath was amazing. After two moons of perpetual cold with his clothes collecting sweat, blood, and dirt, the warm water made Jaehaerys groan in delight. Drying himself off with a soft cloth and donning clean clothes was almost better. Happy to be able to forego the thousand layers, he slipped into lambswool breeches and a linen tunic, marvelling at how good it all felt. He got to shave as well.

Stepping out of the room he'd had the bath in, he was faced with Dany. She sat with her feet up on a table (leather tight around her legs, as he'd thought), flicking through a book.

“Much better”, she concluded after looking him over, then pointed to the hearth. “Your cousin brought in mulled wine the Lord Commander sent us.”

“Does that mean you want me to pour some for you?”

“Yes.” While he did just that, Dany took her feet off the table and set down the book. “Aemon is a wonderful man, and wise. I am glad he has been able to pick up his correspondence with Rhaegar.”

Jaehaerys smiled as he brought her the cup. “And whose doing is that?”

“Yours, from the way you asked.”

He nodded, sitting opposite to her with a cup of his own. “Did you meet his steward?”

Dany laughed. “The Tarly boy? I did, once. Since then, he has been carefully avoiding me. I never knew I could be so terrifying.”

Poor Sam. “Women scare him, that is true. Most things do. But he is smart and Aemon's last steward couldn't even read, so I told the Lord Commander that the Crown would appreciate it if his maester were able to send letters once more.”

“Well done.” She raised her cup. “To our reunion, dearest nephew.”

He did the same, and they drank. “I am not complaining”, he said then, “but I still wonder what brings you here. I thought you were meant to be in some Free City or another with Elia.”

“Oh, I was. Braavos, Pentos, Myr, Lys. Tyrosh, though only briefly. But then, word reached us that our king in his infinite wisdom had finally made up his mind.” She took a pause for dramatic effect, sipping on her wine. “Aegon and Rhae will wed in a fortnight.”

Jaehaerys took that in. “I imagine they are elated.”

“So do I. I have not yet been able to see them, because I was instructed to fly up here – from Lys, I might add; that took a while – and bring you down to King's Landing for the wedding. Truth be told, I am not entirely sure what I would have done had you not returned in time. I have been sitting here waiting for a while now.”

“Well, it all worked out. Do you know what is planned after that? Will we return to our posts?”

“I could not say.” Dany cocked her head. “What I do know, however, is that you and I will be wed at an unspecified later date.”

Jaehaerys blinked at her, mentally repeating her words. _You and I will be wed_. That wasn't ambiguous in the least. He couldn't be misunderstanding her.

When he brought the cup to his face to hide his smile, Dany took it out of his hand. “You are allowed to be pleased”, she said. “Men have fought duels over the right to dance with me.”

The prince had no trouble believing that. He cleared his throat. “I am pleased, yes. I hope you are, too.”

“Of course”, she said, both of them vaguely embarrassed at having to actually admit something resembling feelings. “Who else would I have wed?”

“Aegon”, he said, and she waved her hand. “Which would have inevitably resulted in an arrangement allowing him to be with Rhae, lest I wanted her to do something that would turn my womanly parts into some horrid, withered thing come straight out of the seven hells.“

That did sound like something his sister would do. “I suppose it is not surprising”, Jaehaerys said. “If Elia has been arguing for this and my mother at least wasn't against it -”

“Your mother is for it”, she interrupted. “For you and I being wed, at least, considering prophecy and destiny and all that.”

The prince nodded. “The outcome we all wanted, then. And I have the honour of taking you as my”, he _tried_ to keep a straight face, “blushing, maiden”, it was impossible, “bride.”

They both laughed then. Jaehaerys knew full well that Dany was no maid, considering that the loss of her maidenhead had been his own doing. “Have you had lovers in the Free Cities?”, he asked, more curious than jealous.

“A few.” She swirled the mulled wine in her cup. “The last was a Tyroshi sellsword captain. Everyone but you would have _hated_ him.”

He imagined someone with a green beard and an outrageously boisterous manner. “That sounds about right.” Dany looked at him expectantly, and he pointed around. “Guess how many women I've had at Castle Black? No, I've had to try my luck during my visits in northern castles before I went beyond the Wall.” She had likely been honest with him, so he had to add: “And then, on the other side, I've been with Ygritte.”

Dany looked as if she was expecting him to reveal it had been a joke, but finally understood that this wouldn't happen. “The red-haired wildling I just met? That does explain why she looked like she wanted to kill me, I suppose.”

“Needless to say, I'll end things with her.” Which might just result in Ygritte trying to kill _him_. But he couldn't stay with her if Dany was here; even if she had no such expectations, her presence alone made it impossible to honestly desire anyone else.

And they would soon leave for the capital, anyway. The idea of Aegon and Rhaenys finally being wed had something funny to it. “I have a wedding gift already”, he announced, grinning. Safe Creg, nobody had quite appreciated what he'd found so far, but she would.

Dany's eyes followed him as he went through the few belongings he'd carried beyond the Wall. It was obvious that she'd been using this rooms for a while, as her things were everywhere.

“Look”, he then said triumphantly, and laid the sword down on the table with less bravado than he would've liked – it was very, very sharp.

Her lips stretched into a slow smile as she took it, her small hand wrapping around the slender grip like Visenya's must have done so long ago. Valyrian steel was unmistakable. “You found Dark Sister.”

“I did.” Jaehaerys couldn't say he wasn't proud. Dany stood, taking experimental swings in the air.

Then she set it down and grinned right back. “That is hilarious.”

“Hil- excuse me?” He had hoped for a different sort of reaction, but she just chuckled to herself as she went through her own belongings.

Then, Dany produced a larger sword in an ornate scabbard, handing it out to him. He already felt somewhat deflated when he saw the grip, and didn't know if he was awe-struck or annoyed after he'd pulled it free.

“Blackfyre”, Jaehaerys said flatly. “Is this really Blackfyre?”

“It could not be anything else.”

He had to laugh. “Father will be exuberant.”

Dany winced. “He will be absolutely furious with me for the way I got it, I can already tell you that. But – two Valyrian steel swords for the four of us. I see a problem there.”

“Three swords”, he corrected, reaching for Longclaw, which he'd kept with his discarded dirty clothes. “The Old Bear gave me this after I'd saved him from a wight. His only son is in exile for -”

“Slavery”, she interrupted. “I know. I met him in Pentos, and his wife in Lys. He is pathetic.” Dany regarded the swords. “You have this one, then, and Blackfyre will obviously be Aegon's. Perhaps it will make up for his lack of a dragon. Give Dark Sister to Rhae; she will make better use of it than I could.”

Dany knew how to use a sword, but she was probably right that Rhaenys was better. “Maybe we'll find one for you”, Jaehaerys said. “But – how exactly was it you got Blackfyre? And why are you sure this is really it?”

She sat back down, hooking one foot under the other knee. “A long story, and I am sure the same applies to yours. You go first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations for those who didn't read the prequel/want a recap:
> 
> Jon-not-Jon and Dany were born in 282 AC in the prequel, and thus earlier than in canon. This story starts in 299 AC; a year later than AGOT. Hence, Jae and Dany are older – both 17 instead of 13/14.  
> I have had some trouble with them to be honest. In canon, they're very much defined by their experiences – Jon is a bastard, Dany an exile. Everything else results from these circumstances and shapes them accordingly.  
> In this, none of this applies as they were both raised as parts of the royal family by Rhaegar, Elia, and Lyanna. As a consequence, they're quite different.
> 
> The Night's Watch is in much better shape than in canon because the realm has known about the Others coming back for a while now. Benjen didn't disappear in this (though tbh he might as well have because he doesn't show up for ages), considering that there's no need to investigate what wights are. They already know.
> 
> Cregan Snow is Brandon Stark's and Barbrey Ryswell's bastard son. In the prequel, there was no “abduction” of Lyanna, hence Brandon and Rickard Stark never rode down to King's Landing to demand her release, which means they weren't killed by Aerys (though Rickard has since died – don't ask me how. An illness or something; it doesn't matter). Brandon is Lord of Winterfell, married to Catelyn with Barbrey as his mistress. Like with Jon in canon, it made sense for Cregan to join the Watch. (Ned is married to Ashara Dayne and they have their own keep in the North – more on this in the story.)


	2. The Elder

_Somewhere in the haunted forest, the 4 th moon of the year 299 AC_

They made camp by a weirwood, lighting a fire to ward off the cold.

“This will only make us easy prey”, the Halfhand said, watching Jaehaerys pile up the damp wood. “They'll see it through the trees. Wrap your furs tight and sleep next to each other, and you won't need a fire.”

They'd had the same discussion every night. “The wildlings aren't our enemies”, the prince told him for the hundredth time, taking off a glove and making a tiny cut on his hand with his dragonglass dagger.

The Halfhand snorted. “I don't think they know that.” But then he merely sat, frowning as Jaehaerys smeared a drop of blood on one of the sticks.

“You must teach me how to do this.” Creg's eyes grew wide when he struck the flint against his sword, whispered _“Perzys”_ , and the spark landed directly on his blood despite the sudden gust of freezing wind.

Immediately, the fire was lit as if the wood was dry kindling. “And me!”, Grenn said, grinning down onto the flames.

“You're too dumb to learn that”, Pyp replied, kneeling down and holding his hands to the fire. “Besides, you or me aren't special enough.”

Jaehaerys smiled, standing while he pulled his glove back on. “You're both special in your own ways.” With them, he sometimes felt as if he was Elia speaking to a small child.

Creg shook his head. “So you don't think I could learn?”

All but his cousin tensed when they saw a shape silently emerge from the trees, but it was only Ghost, a dead hare in his jaws. “No”, Jaehaerys admitted, “but you've got him, so don't complain.”

The direwolf dropped his kill at Creg's feet, earning him a rub behind the ears. The Halfhand had watched all of this with quiet disapproval, but now grabbed the hare and began to skin it.

The old ranger wasn't convinced that accompanying a young prince – not even a black brother – beyond the Wall in pursuit of a magical vision was the best use of his time. Jaehaerys could understand this, but thought that the man had to eventually admit that someone who rode a dragon and lit fires with his blood might have a certain understanding of such matters.

If only Rhovio was here – but dragons couldn't be flown past the Wall. Things would've been much easier in that case, also because it was really unusually cold this night.

That thought made Jaehaerys narrow his eyes, trying to see past the trees and somehow pull his furs closer around him. Even though it was summer, it wasn't ever warm beyond the Wall; that much was normal. But this cold was biting in a way he hadn't experienced before, seeming to reach through his clothes and flesh into his bones; hurting his joints as if he was an old man.

Fog crept in from between the trees. The horses they'd tied up were skittish, and Ghosts sniffed the air with suspicion.

Swallowing, he made towards the weirwood. When in doubt, speak to the gods, as his mother would say.

“Jon?”, he heard Pyp ask. “Should we only have the rabbit or can we have the cheese as well? I could eat a horse, and if we're not far from wherever -”

“We'll only have the rabbit”, the Halfhand replied for him. “ _His Grace_ doesn't actually know where we're going.”

“I do, Qhorin”, he said with a tone he hoped mimicked the iron authority his father expressed so effortlessly. “But the rabbit will suffice.”

“One for five men”, Grenn complained. “That's hardly a feast.”

Jaehaerys knelt before the tree, thinking this particular face looked mournful. “Shut up”, Pyp said. “Neither of us know what a feast's like. How many rabbits do they serve a man at Winterfell, Creg?”

His cousin clicked his tongue. “You shut up, too. Can't you tell something is happening?”

He was right. The wind had grown so strong that a normal fire would've long blown out, the horses were nervously dancing back and forth, and Ghost was snarling.

Jaehaerys placed his hand on the tree, ready to pray – and didn't need to.

He'd never felt as if the gods were screaming at him before, but now they were. _Death_ , he heard, _death death the dead the dead_ -

“Fuck”, he said, scrambling to his feet and spinning around, drawing both Longclaw and the dragonglass dagger. Seeing him, his companions' faces showed brief flashes of terror as they, too, drew their weapons.

It wasn't the first time he saw wights. There'd been the ones who'd attacked the Old Bear that night, but their sight still provoked a special kind of terror. At least a dozen came through the woods, slow and clumsy but entirely unfeeling, and undoubtedly determined to kill every single one of them and have them join their ranks.

Jaehaerys met Creg's gaze as they heard Pyp whimper. “If I die, tell Alarra I loved her”, the bastard said.

The prince rolled his eyes. “I can't believe you'd have your last words be about Alarra.” Then, the first wight made it onto the clearing, and he took off his head with a swing that would've made Ser Arthur proud.

Chaos followed. Wights might have been slow, but they were vicious and hard to kill. Longclaw easily severed the next one's hand, but it landed on Jaehaerys' arm and crawled its way up towards his throat while he fought the rest of the body, putting an ineffective hole into the dead man's chest. The first wight came for him as well, headless as he was, ripping at the prince's furs while he furiously stabbed at his open neck with the dagger.

He growled, entirely unwilling to be killed by two gods-damned undead wildlings. Jaehaerys kicked the headless one away and jumped on him, heavy boots breaking the ancient, brittle bones in his chest. The one-handed wight fixed him with those icy blue eyes, a rusty blade in the hand that remained.

Before he could get to him, Qhorin cut the monster in half. That most likely saved Jaehaerys' life, because he next felt the freezing pressure of a hard black hand around his neck; was just about able to plunge the dagger into it and pry it away.

The prince tossed it into the flames, thanking his ancestors for blood that could maintain a fire, and his sister for teaching him her tricks. He cut open the rotten flesh of a wight that had been about to attack Pyp, saw Creg jumped by two but Ghost take care of one, hit another with the pommel of his sword and saw him stagger towards the flames.

For all their faults, wights made for excellent kindling, he thought as the creature lit up after having been touched by the slightest spark.

He heard a scream and saw a wight clinging to Grenn's back, the ranger desperately trying to cut him off but unable to reach him. Before Jaehaerys could get nearly close enough, one of the monster's hands clawed into Grenn's eyes and the other his mouth, pulling his jaw off his skull with inhuman strength.

There was no time to think about it. Pyp screamed in horror when he saw it, but then Creg was there and furiously hacked the wight to pieces – not that it would do anything to save Grenn.

Where was the Halfhand? Jaehaerys spun around in search for him, and very nearly pissed himself when he found out.

Qhorin Halfhand had his back to him, a blade like a shard of ice sticking out of his neck, blood sizzling around it. On the other side of the blade stood the true foe.

Tall, thin, skin whiter than snow, and surprisingly beautiful, the Other slowly drew its sword out of Qhorin as it turned its gaunt face towards Jaehaerys. Its armour rippled in a thousand different colours while it leisurely strode towards him, the Halfhand's corpse dropping to the forest floor with a thud even as the creature's steps made no sound and left no mark. The last drops of blood left steam on its sword.

Jaehaerys was terrified, but that wasn't all. He was also furious, and he was _thrilled_.

“ _Stay down”_ , he heard Creg shout at a wight, and Pyp curse as he presumably saw the Other. The prince took a deep breath, thinking of the heat of the flames behind him and the lifeblood pumping through his veins.

They knew that dragonglass could kill them; the texts had made that clear enough. They'd heard from that deserter last year that normal swords were useless. They weren't sure about Valyrian steel, however.

There was only one way to find out, Jaehaerys decided, ducking under the Other's crystal sword before he tried to stab Longclaw into its hip. The enemy evaded him, though perhaps not on purpose, as it was only taking a step back to slash at him once more.

He parried the blow, Longclaw meeting the crystal sword with a sound akin to an agonised cry. Neither shattered, which gave the enemy pause, and Jaehaerys heard it say something in an inhuman language; like half-molten icicles falling in the spring and breaking on the ground.

“I've been waiting for this”, he replied, swatted the astonished Other's sword aside, and plunged the dragonglass dagger into its chest.

Perhaps he should've tried to use Longclaw, considering that he still didn't know if it could kill them. He had no desire to end up like the Halfhand, however, and being the first man in thousands of years to see an Other die was good enough for now.

A high-pitched scream sounded and the creature's body sizzled, then melted around the dagger. Jaehaerys noted with fascination how it collapsed: first the armour (was it _part_ of its body?), then the flesh, and lastly pale, translucent bones. The liquid seemed to evaporate instantly, leaving nothing but the dagger on the ground. Even the sword was gone.

A shame. It would have been good to have something to examine.

Slow steps next to him, and then Creg was there, staring at the dagger. “They're all dead”, he announced. “Or, dead _er_.” Two pairs of Stark-grey eyes met. “So is Grenn.”

“I know.” The prince looked around, finding Pyp sobbing over the ruin of the other man's face in the middle of the dismembered former wights. “And the Halfhand. And the horses, it seems.” Where their mounts had stood now lay a pile of hooves, blood, and guts, and Ghost recoiled when he sniffed it.

He picked up the dagger, finding his glove stick to it like it was ice. Not long ago, they'd been five men with as many horses, a direwolf, and supper. Now, they were three and had no horses, but at least the wolf remained.

“Let's burn the bodies”, he said. “Burn everything. And then we go on.”

He'd always known he had a destiny. His parents had defied nearly three centuries of convention in order to wed and have him at the gods' demand, after all, and that wasn't something to be taken lightly. Jaehaerys thought it possible that he was the prince who was promised, though Dany was another option; their simultaneous births blurring things. It wasn't like he remembered the day his grandfather died and the dragons hatched, either.

Back at Castle Black, Aemon had recommended that he work under the assumption that it _was_ him, and so he did. Due to the way he'd been raised, Jaehaerys was no stranger to magic, prophecy, and sorcery, even if he lacked Rhaenys' proficiency in the latter (but could outdo Aegon, whose interests lay firmly on what their father called the worldly plane). This was why he wasn't terribly surprised when, after three days of fearfully making their way through the haunted forest, their group was approached by a man riding an elk while surrounded by a flock of ravens.

He was intriguing, though apparently unwilling to reveal his identity. It was quite clear that their taciturn new companion was dead but no wight, and he addressed both Creg and Pyp as his brothers. Ghost despised his smell. Both Cregan and Jaehaerys cast runes to see what they should make of him, and both arrived at the conclusion that he would need to be trusted for the time being.

“Are you a warg?”, Creg asked him on their second day of travel together, pointing at the ravens.

The dead man's hooded face turned to him. They were taking turns joining him atop his elk, though now it was Pyp, who'd stopped questioning all the strangeness around him a year ago, when Jaehaerys had first arrived at Castle Black. This had been why the prince had asked the Lord Commander to lend him Pyp and Grenn.

“No”, the man said. “But the one we seek out is.”

The cousins exchanged a look. Creg certainly was a warg, though he'd never quite been able to learn all there was to it; Lady Stark having done her best to keep him from enjoying the same upbringing as his trueborn half-siblings. Jaehaerys, meanwhile, had had the occasional dreams of being inside an animal, but wasn't quite sure what to make of them.

The gift was stronger in some than in others, anyway. “The three-eyed crow”, he said. “You are taking us to him, are you not?”

At least he hoped that was the case, else they were wasting quite a bit of time. “I am”, the man confirmed.

“Why?” Aegon liked to complain that magical visions lacked clarity, and that the whole world would be better served if prophecy were more straightforward. Jaehaerys couldn't say he disagreed.

“He asked for you”, the dead man said.

That was helpful. “Why?”

The hooded figure emitted irritation; an emotion the prince was accustomed to causing. “I couldn't say”, he replied. “I only do as told.”

That had marked the end of that conversation. They endured one more gruelling day of trodding through the snow and surviving on the little meat Ghost caught them after that (though the stranger didn't eat at all), and Jaehaerys had to admit to himself that he longed for the comforts he'd grown up with. Whether it was the splendour of the Red Keep, the ancient magic of Dragonstone, the restored parts of Summerhall, or the cozy chambers of Winterfell – hells, he'd prefer any minor holdfast to this, or even some peasant's hut.

What was more, he missed his dragon. Not even flying _around_ the Wall had worked.

His relief was great when the dead man told him they'd arrived, pointing to a cleft on a steep hill, surrounded by weirwoods. The sight of them was comforting as always, even if a by now familiar chill was setting in.

They hurried up. Pyp rarely spoke these days; not since Grenn had died. This was what made his scream so surprising, as was the discovery that wights had hidden beneath the snow leading to their destination.

In the desperate race that followed, Creg injured his leg and Jaehaerys had to drag him to the cleft while fighting off the creatures. This cost him his dagger and nearly a hand, but in the end, wights started burning for some reason and they made it inside – with Pyp and Ghost, but without the stranger, who'd declared that he would be barred from entry.

So were all other dead things, it seemed. They just about had enough time to catch their breath before discovering that they were in a vast system of caves inhabited by the _children of the forest_ , which was enough to surprise even him.

Regrettably, the “child” who met them at the entrance wasn't any more inclined to answer his questions than the dead man had been. She only silently led them through a maze of narrow tunnels and large caves, sometimes offering glimpses into other passages where more of her kind could be seen; over and past increasingly thick weirwood roots and eventually into a sort of underground lichyard. There were bones and skulls everywhere, some human, some animal, some those of giants or the children.

Jaehaerys wanted to know everything, but at least, he felt that he wouldn't need to wait much longer for the answers. As they descended deeper into the hill, he began to tire from half-carrying Cregan, and heard him wince more and more – the ground was uneven and their path increasingly steep.

He knew his cousin would never say anything, but eventually, it appeared that the child had had enough. “You”, she said, pointing at Creg, “and the other one. Remain here.”

“What will happen to them?”, he demanded, and she impatiently waved a hand.

“The injured one will be healed.”

Creg didn't look convinced, but Jaehaerys could see it making sense. “Remember Greywater Watch?”, he asked as he helped him sit on an enormously thick root. “If Lord Reed can do it, the children will have no issue.” It has been Cregan's trueborn brother Torrhen who'd broken his leg when he'd grown overconfident sparring with Howland Reed's daughter, and their host had somehow healed him completely within a week.

“Fine, go on without us”, Creg said, patting the space next to him for Pyp to sit. “We've followed you for a fortnight, and now you'll do the most interesting bit alone.” Ghost placed his head in his lap.

Shrugging off that complaint, Jaehaerys followed his impatiently waiting guide. He had to climb down the last tunnel, using roots and the occasional bone as a ladder. Then they reached a natural bridge spanning a vast chasm over what sounded like an underground river, and he was about to steel himself for crossing it, but the woman only wordlessly pointed behind him.

Another living dead man, he thought, watching a corpse open one eye. It was red, and even though the man he was looking at had a body as rotten and skeletal as some of the worse-preserved wights, this wasn't the only clue revealing his identity. His impossibly long, thin hair wasn't white with age, but rather of a paleness that was as familiar to Jaehaerys as the remains of the man's features. Together with his formerly fine black clothes and the purple birthmark on the skin he still had...

“How?”, the prince asked.

It took the corpse a moment to reply, and when he did, his voice came out as more of a rasp. “You know who I am.”

Jaehaerys had to fight off a grin. His father would be so jealous. “Bloodraven”, he said, then corrected himself for fear of offending. “Ser Brynden, rather.”

“Aye. I never minded the name.” Very slightly tilting his head, the man looked him over with that famous red eye. “Another Jaehaerys, then.” It had been a while since he'd heard someone properly pronounce his name. “They should have named you Daeron.”

“How?”, he asked again, and Bloodraven's lips pressed themselves into a thin line. “Your father's thirst for knowledge and your mother's impatience. Though I was much the same when I was young. We have much in common, in truth – a Targaryen father, a mother of the First Men. A life spent in the service of a brother we love.”

That was all well and good, but what he really wanted to know was this: “Am I the prince who was promised?”

“Perhaps.”

Jaehaerys stared at the corpse, stunned. “ _Perhaps?_ You are Bloodraven. You are the three-eyed crow, are you not? If anyone should be able to tell me, it is you.”

“Prophecy is vague and fickle. I _am_ the last greenseer, yes – presently, though there will be another after me. He is one reason I called you here. You must ensure he comes.”

Shaking his head, the prince sat down on the ground. “You called me so I would fetch someone else? Who?”

“Not to fetch, but only to ensure that he will begin his journey. Brandon Stark.”

What? “My uncle?”, Jaehaerys asked, trying to imagine the Lord of Winterfell in these caves. He wouldn't even fit through some of the tunnels.

“Your cousin”, Bloodraven replied, which was even more absurd.

Jaehaerys's fingers tapped against his knee. “Bran is a boy”, he pointed out. “Only nine years old.”

“It is not ideal”, Bloodraven acknowledged. “But time is of the essence. The Others will not wait.”

Still. “You want me to go to Winterfell and tell my uncle that his second son; a child, must travel beyond the Wall to go and live in a tree?”

“Your uncle will know; you must merely aid him in making that decision. The gods demand it. It is not the true reason I have called you, either.”

“You are much like my father”, Jaehaerys said. “Which I am sure he will be very happy to hear. You both draw things out; enjoy making people wait for what you have to tell them.”

“One would think you would be more respectful when speaking to an elder of your House.”

He nodded. “ _Exactly_ like my father.”

And, just like the king would have, Bloodraven decided to ignore the remark. “Down at the foot of my seat”, he said. “Take it.”

Biting his tongue instead of asking for any details, Jaehaerys did as he was told. Initially, he wasn't sure what it was – there were many roots to be pushed aside, though he didn't want to damage any. Searching around, he was tempted to ask if he was meant to pick up a handful of pebbles, and then his hand touched something incredibly sharp.

He didn't even feel it cut him, but could tell he was bleeding. “Do not sever your fingers”, Bloodraven said helpfully.

Digging his hands deeper into the dirt, he could tell that he was touching a blade, now carefully running his hands along the flat side. A sword, in fact – a realisation that made his breath hitch.

Could it be... ?

Finally, he found the hilt, stuck between the roots. It took a lot of manoeuvring and several more cuts until he was able to pull it free.

The sword was covered in a mix of dirt and his blood, but the ripple of Valyrian steel still shone through. Golden flames and a ruby decorated its slender hilt.

He stared up at Bloodraven. “All this time”, he said, “Dark Sister was just here? What were you waiting for?”

“She would have been lost had I not kept her. Now, the realm needs Valyrian steel more than ever.”

Jaehaerys sat back, admiring the blade. Coming here had been worth it, after all.

“Now.” The red eye examined him again. “Cregan Snow's leg will be healed quickly. Then, you must be on your way to do what your father sent you to. The King-Beyond-the-Wall has gathered his host at the Frostfangs; I will ensure you find him.” That, too, was useful. “Until you are ready to leave, you must rest – and may ask all the questions you have. I might even answer a few of them.”

Jaehaerys could grin, now. That was more like it.

_Castle Black, about two moons later_

“So what did he tell you?”, Dany asked.

He was getting them both more mulled wine. “He went to the Wall, became Lord Commander – you know this. Then, he heard a calling from the three-eyed crow before him – he'd always been close to the old gods, as you can imagine; not unlike my mother. He took some of the Raven's Teeth that had followed him to the Wall, went to the cave, and took his new position.”

She hummed. “Anything else? Salacious gossip from the era of the first Blackfyre Rebellion?”

“He is not exactly the gossipy type. All I got out of him is that Bittersteel truly was a terrible man to be around, but in all fairness, he would say that. He was unwilling to speak about Shiera Seastar, but quite appreciates Father's admiration for Daeron the Good.” Jaehaerys thought back. “In fact, when talking about the Blackfyres, he did mention that wrongs were sometimes righted a long time after the fact. Perhaps he meant that you were getting the sword back – which, again. _How_ did you do that?”


	3. The Captains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some Dany/Daario flirting at the end of this chapter.

_Lys, early in the 5 th moon of the year 299 AC_

They watched the sunset from a terrace of the first magister's palace, the sight only made more beautiful by Dāero's silhouette up in the sky.

“Oh, sweet princess”, Nedarro Dagareon sighed, “what would I not give for you to take me along on your wonderful mount just once.”

Dany smiled at him. “Would you give me all of your wife's and your concubines' jewels, dear magister?”, she asked, following the dragon with her eyes.

“Why, of course.” He smiled back. Though past his prime, Dagareon was a very good-looking man. There were no Lysene nobles who weren't. “I would give you all the jewels in the Free Cities, Your Grace.”

She hummed, leaning on the marble balustrade. The garden smelled of flowers, though if this came from the plants themselves or the guests' perfumes was impossible to say. “Would you give me your palace?”

Dagareon didn't miss a beat. “For a ride on this wonderful creature? I would give you every palace in Lys. The whole island for the chance to fly, and our holdings in the Disputed Lands as tribute to your beauty.”

Dāero took a steep dive, dipped his snout in the water, and emerged with a fish so large they could see it from afar. All the feast's attendees sighed in wonder when he threw it into the air, roasted it with his black flame, and devoured it whole. “Would you give”, she asked again, “a guarantee of Lys' assistance in the war for the dawn?”

The first magister coughed in that discrete and entirely feigned way the Lyseni used to hide their discomfort. “You know I cannot do that, princess.”

Dany made sure he saw her disappointment. “Then do not ask me for favours, good magister. My dragon is not like one of your pleasure slaves. He will not serve anyone merely because he is commanded to do so.”

“One would think”, Dagareon said, “that such an opportunity could be considered as a gift from a guest to a host...”

“Oh, please.” She grabbed a crystal glass of sweet red wine from a passing tray. “We have exchanged gifts already. Your wealth is too great for such pettiness, good magister, and my birth too high.” At this point, she found it difficult to care if she annoyed him. He'd been annoying her, and it had long become clear that he wouldn't be first magister much longer.

He gave another sigh. “Your Grace possesses not only astounding beauty, but also the ability to insult a man in his own home without causing any anger.”

“I am lucky you are so forgiving.” Dany was used to polite praises of her looks, but it rang hollow in Lys, where everyone looked like her. “If you truly want to ride Dāeremiros, you must be more convincing.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone approaching who stuck out from the pale crowd, and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Your Grace is cruel”, he said. “All you want, I cannot give you. What I want, you could give easily, and yet – oh, good queen. I so hope you enjoy this feast.”

Elia smiled gracefully. “A wonderful occasion, magister.” She was speaking High Valyrian, while Dany and Dagareon had been conversing in the Lysene dialect. “If you do not mind, I fear I must borrow the princess.”

He said something about being heartbroken to be deprived of both their presences, and then Dany was free of him. “Anything?”, Elia asked in Common.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course not. In this regard, at least, this entire journey has been a waste of time.”

“Oh, well.” The queen hooked an arm under hers as they strolled through the garden. “At least you have now been to Lys, and I do not think you would disagree that it is a place of exceptional beauty. And then there are the sellswords tomorrow, and...” She flashed Dany a brief grin, “someone else you may want to meet, purely to satisfy any curiosity you may hold.”

“By all means”, she said, “keep speaking in riddles.”

Elia patted her hand. “Do you remember that northern knight we met in Pentos? Ser Jorah Mormont.”

“Oh.” Dany put the pieces together, and deposited her untouched glass of wine on another tray. “The slaver who kept pestering us for a pardon.” She'd eventually told him he was lucky she didn't order Ser Barristan to take his head then and there.

“The very same.” Elia looked down onto a lower terrace and Dany followed her gaze to a beautiful, golden-haired woman. “That is his wife, the Lady Lynesse. A Hightower by birth.”

That could be interesting. “I wonder what Jae makes of his father”, she said as they began to descend an ornate staircase. Then she remembered what she'd wanted to ask her good-sister all day, and Dany stopped her before they'd made it all the way down. “In fact, you must tell me. Has Rhaegar replied?”

Elia smiled reassuringly. “If he has, his answer has not yet reached me.” It was strange to be without ravens for messages. “But, Dany – you know that you and I agree on this matter, and I am absolutely certain that your brother will not disregard my counsel.”

He couldn't, anyway. Elia was usually right when it came to things like arranging marriages, and as much as some people thought of Rhaegar as cold, he had a soft heart when it came to his family. Even if Jae was somewhere on or even beyond the Wall and unable to chime in, Dany was sure that he agreed with her and his siblings on how their House should continue. She couldn't imagine Lyanna objecting, either.

“Thank you”, she said, then continued the way down. “Now, let us meet this Lady Lynesse.”

When they did, it made Dany's certainty waver somewhat. If this woman had once chosen to wed Jorah Mormont, then did _anyone_ truly know what they were doing?

The next day, she was to receive the captains of numerous sellsword companies in one of Lys' splendid plazas while Elia was haggling over a customs agreement with the magisters. Though Dagareon's wife had gifted her with a chest full of splendid Lysene gowns, Dany chose something decidedly Westerosi: jet black satin with ruby beads and silver jewellery, and a tiara atop an elaborate hairdo. She was representing the Crown, after all.

“Keep in mind, princess”, Ser Barristan told her as he helped her from the litter, “you cannot trust any of these men.”

“Oh, truly?”, she asked. “I thought sellswords were famed for their honour and loyalty.”

“I mean it, Your Grace. They are unlike the princes and magisters you are accustomed to -” He turned around to face a woman approaching them, hand on the hilt of his sword. Her other guards did the same.

It seemed unnecessary, as it was clearly only a red priestess. Even her hair was copper, and she wore a ruby choker around her neck. “Princess Daenerys”, she said in the Common Tongue, curtseying, “My name is Melisandre. I must ask your forgiveness for approaching you so, but the first magister will not admit the servants of R'hllor into his palace.”

Dany could believe that; many rulers in the Free Cities were suspicious of the religion. She waved at her guards to relax. “You are forgiven”, she said, “though I do not have much time. How can I help you, Melisandre?”

The priestess looked at her intently, taking a step closer. “What I have to say cannot be explained in brief, Your Grace. I beg your leave to accompany you and the queen once you return to the Seven Kingdoms.”

She'd also been told by many Essosi rulers that the followers of the Lord of Light were relentless in their attempts to convert. “We already have a red priest at court”, Dany pointed out. “Thoros of Myr.” Possibly the least pious man in Westeros.

“Does Thoros of Myr know of Azor Ahai?”, Melisandre asked, and Dany froze. “Does he understand the threat posed by the Great Other, and the importance of the prince who was promised?”

The princess smiled slowly, coming closer to the priestess to look up at her face. She took her time studying it and the ruby choker. There was something about this woman; an intangible air of magic that reminded her of Rhaenys. “You are welcome in the Red Keep, my lady. I cannot yet say when we will return, but we will send word and have a cabin ready for you.” Melisandre bowed her head, and Dany added: “Say, are you perchance skilled at glamours?”

That caught the priestess off guard. “Your Grace?”

“You know what I mean. If you are, I may have use for you before we set sail.”

There was something she wanted to do before returning home, though she had no idea as to how it might be accomplished so far.

The sellsword captains were a strange collection of men. With another war over the Disputed Lands on the horizon, many had been in the vicinity of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh already – the large and boisterous Bloodbeard of the Company of the Cat, the not dissimilar but somehow more unpleasant Mero of the Second Sons, the melancholy and noble Tattered Prince of the Windblown, the lisping Qohorik Vargo Hoat of the Brave Companions, and the three joint captains of the Stormcrows.

She received them in a pavilion on the plaza. After she'd outlined Rhaegar's proposal, they laughed, which wasn't unexpected. Dany explained that the threat was no longer hypothetical, as the Watch had already encountered wights. Further, she said, they should assume she was telling the truth for the purposes of this conversation.

Bloodbeard announced that his company would fight any men, dead or alive, if the price was right – but that they would not sit around by the Wall for what could be years waiting while nothing happened, even if paid. He couldn't go so long without killing anyone.

The Tattered Prince, though oft interrupted by Bloodbeard's rude remarks, explained that to fight such creatures would command a higher price than could ever be paid in gold. He demanded a short private conversation, and told her what he truly desired: the Iron Throne's help in taking Pentos for himself.

Vargo Hoat remained entirely unimpressed. Could one hurt a wight? Dany explained that they had no minds nor feelings. He, too, wanted more than gold then; ideally a keep.

Mero, introducing himself as the Titan's Bastard, obviously had no regard for her station. “I heard you're speaking for a king, but now I see he's dressed a pleasure slave in finery. Why don't you take all that off and make better use of your mouth?”

Ser Barristan had half drawn his sword by the time he'd finished speaking, but Dany stopped him with a look, though not because she would've minded seeing the sellsword cut in two. No one had ever spoken to her this way. “Do you have anything useful to say?”, she asked.

He stared at her cleavage. “That wasn't a no”, Mero claimed. “Though I wouldn't mind if it was. I'd take you either way.”

What to do? A princess couldn't suffer the indignity of being spoken to like this, but she also couldn't show that it shook her; not in the company of these men. Too bad she'd had to promise the magisters that Dāero wouldn't land inside the city. “You may try”, she said. “But have you perchance seen the very large dragon I arrived on? He can be awfully jealous.”

Grinning, the sellsword leaned forward. “I bet you get sopping wet when you ride that beast.”

“And yet”, she sighed, “the sight of you renders my nether regions drier than the deserts of Dorne. Would you rather we spoke with a screen between us, so that my appearance will not distract you?”

He shrugged. “I've got nothing to say to your fairy tales, but I'm still glad I came. Now I know to come to you tonight, and don't have to waste money in a pillow house.”

Had any of her family members been here, he'd be dead already – exempting Rhaegar and Elia, who'd have him killed more surreptitiously later on.

Dany supposed that this was why the king had sent the two of them across the Narrow Sea. “The Second Sons are camped out by the harbour, are they not?”, she asked. “And your banner is a broken sword?”

“So you'll come to me, is that it? Let me know in advance, and maybe I'll even have a bath before.”

She smiled thinly. “I might bring a friend as well. Now, I understand the three of you speak for the Stormcrows.”

They were a pale Qartheen named Sallor, a Ghiscari called Prendahl na Ghezn, and an extraordinarily flamboyant Tyroshi introducing himself as Daario Naharis.

The Ghiscari appeared to be the leader. “The Titan's Bastard is right to call this a fairy tale”, he said. “But if it were true, taking your offer would mean certain death. We will have no part in your fantasies.”

“Forgive me”, Dany said, “but I do not understand. You name me a liar, and yet my lies scare you?”

“I don't care if you're lying or not.” Prendahl sounded contemptuous. “Even if everyone in your brother's Sunset Kingdoms is killed, it makes no matter to me.”

“But see, the last Long Night left its traces all over the known world. I would not be so certain that the threat is constrained to Westeros.”

He scoffed. “Lies.”

“You are three”, she said. Rhaegar's favourite number. “All other companies have one captain, and you have three. Why is that, if I may ask?”

Sallor, who so far had been busy picking his nose, looked at her. “The Stormcrows are a brotherhood.”

“Then take my king's offer to your brothers, and do not forget to mention just how much gold there is to be gained.” She studied the third man. “What about you, Daario Naharis? For a man dressed so loudly, you speak very little.”

He smiled at her through his ridiculous blue beard and golden whiskers, and Dany thought the face beneath was handsome. “I have been too captured by your beauty, princess. Words fail me.”

She held back a groan. Perhaps it was her royal status, but men in Westeros were usually able to speak to her without mentioning her looks. “I see. Well, good captains, you have all heard what I had to say. I shall relay all your comments to my royal brother, and many of you may hear from the Iron Throne once the time comes.” Raising her eyes to the sky where Dāero was circling, she added: “Mayhaps I should have sought out the Golden Company instead of your ragged bands.”

That name brought forth many snorts of derision. “The Golden Company is currently in talks with Tyrosh”, the Tattered Prince pointed out.

“Then I should hope this next war will be done with quickly.” Not that this was the main obstacle to hiring them – the Blackfyre Pretenders' servants would never fight for her House, even if that line was extinct.

The captains took their leave, some with unfailing politeness (the Tattered Prince), others with obvious derision (Prendahl). Mero leered at her once more, and Daario Naharis bowed.

Dany looked after him, considering. Tyrosh... Perhaps he was available for private hire, too.

She decided not to wait too long to find out. A few hours after the meeting, following a quick ride on Dāero, Elia was still busy with the magisters. This provided as good of an opportunity as any she was likely to get.

“I am glad to have left such an impression on you, princess”, the sellsword said with a smirk, standing before Dany in her chambers in the palace. “When your messenger reached me, I knew I was the luckiest man alive.”

She laughed, deciding that his overblown persona had something charming to it. “Pour some wine for both of us, Daario Naharis. I have an offer to make to you.”

He complied as Dany leaned back on her couch, still in the leathers she wore when riding Dāero and ignoring her Kingsguard's disapproving glare. “Leave us, Ser Barristan”, she said in Common.

The glare intensified. “Your Grace.”

She stared back at him, prompting him to continue: “Queen Elia has commanded me to never leave your side -”

“And yet, you do not accompany me to the privy, and are we not both glad for it?” With a sigh, Dany changed back to Valyrian. “Please hand in your blades, captain.”

Daario Naharis was clearly unhappy about this, but obeyed nonetheless, giving Ser Barristan both his stiletto and the curved Dothraki weapon. Their hilts were matching: naked golden women, making her consider just how annoyed any of her family would be if they met him (save Jae, perhaps).

“See, Ser Barristan?”, she asked then. “You no longer need to fear for my life, and my virtue is long gone. Elia will never know.”

Perhaps she shouldn't torture him so, Dany thought as the old knight walked out. “Your grandfather?”, Daario asked, handing her the requested glass as he sat on the couch opposite to hers.

“He did serve under him”, she admitted. “Now – I have summoned you here because I was wondering if the Stormcrows could do without you for a while. I would hire your services for a week or two.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do not need to pay me to bed you, princess.”

His gaze was intense and Dany felt her face flush, which didn't happen too often. “I am aware of that.”

“You should be”, he said, “because I believe that to love a woman is something a man must do every day, but that he must do so with skill and reverence. Many men compare it to fighting when it is actually the opposite, though I cannot deny that there is great pleasure in slaying a foe.” He cocked his head. “Do you wish for me to slay Mero, the Titan's Bastard? I would forego payment for that, too. The man has no regard for your beauty.”

“Not quite”, she said, though the offer was tempting. “To get to the point, Daario Naharis, I wish for you to covertly take me to Tyrosh, help me infiltrate the camp of the Golden Company, and recover an item that was stolen from my House a long time ago.”

His stunned expression was something to behold. “Bedding you would have been much easier.”

Dany looked him in the eyes as she took a deep sip of the wine. “We shall see about that part.” It had been a while. “This mission will not be quite as difficult as you might think. I have someone who will be able to make me look like somebody else – first magister Dagareon's wife, to be exact, come to try and dissuade the Golden Company from taking up service with Tyrosh.”

“Speaking to them is one thing, princess”, he said. “Stealing, another altogether.”

“It is not stealing.” Bittersteel had done that. “It is taking back something that is my family's by rights.”

The sellsword still seemed confused. “And what, in fact? A crown?”

“A sword.” It wasn't only about the principle, either. Blackfyre was made of Valyrian steel, and all they knew about the Others and their slaves pointed to that being useful. “Do you deem this endeavour too dangerous, captain?”

“For me?”, he asked. “Never. I fear no man, nor ten thousand. I can be as stealthy as a shadowcat but ten times more graceful, quicker than a snake and near as strong as your mighty dragon. It is you I worry about, sweet princess. To put yourself in such danger is not necessary; not when you can have me go on my own. I would weep tears of blood if I had your death on my conscience.”

It would be sensible to send the sellsword to Tyrosh without her. It was what Rhaegar would have done, and Elia, and Aegon; perhaps even Viserys. “Do not mistake me for a helpless maid, Daario Naharis. I will not be a burden you must protect.” Rhaegar had seen to that, ensuring that both she and Rhaenys had received an education that would rival Visenya's – even though Dany had to admit that her niece was more skilled at combat than herself, having spent much time with her Sand Snake cousins. “This thing is for me to do. My House's ancestral blade must be recovered by one of our own – and what kind of sellsword would you be if you did not thirst for adventure? Imagine being able to tell this story.”

With a chuckle, the captain raised his glass. “Your wish is my command, princess. To adventure.”

_Castle Black, more than a moon later_

“That plan was _insane_ , Dany.”

“Oh, I know.” She sat back down from refilling their wine. “But, as you can see, I am alive and Blackfyre is here.”

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes. “And that Tyroshi sellsword...”

“Became my lover, yes. Do not judge me. Also because”, she put her feet back on the table, “you still have not told me how you even met this Ygritte.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure that, in canon, the Golden Company wouldn't have Blackfyre at this point, but that it's in the chest Illyrio sends to them later on. It's different here though, just because I think that a Golden Company heist is more fun than breaking into Illyrio's manse (and for other reasons I don't want to get into for now.)


	4. The Free Folk I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaehaerys/Ygritte at the end of this chapter.

_The Frostfangs, the 5 th moon of the year 299 AC_

“Well, seems we found them”, Pyp said.

From high atop the ridge, they looked down at thousands upon thousands of people stretched out in an enormous encampment. He tried to estimate their numbers – a hundred thousand? More? It wasn't an army in the true sense, that much was clear; too many animals and too little order.

That was good. It meant there was a higher chance of coming to an agreement.

“And they've found us”, Creg added, pointing to a group of wildlings swiftly riding towards them. They were six in number, all on scraggly horses, dressed in an array of rags – except for the one wearing actual bones as some sort of armour, which Jaehaerys didn't think would be terribly effective, though it might work to scare an opponent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that both his companions were drawing their swords. _“Don't”_ , he commanded, making himself stand up straight, but relaxed.

Perhaps it was this that stopped the wildlings from butchering them immediately. “Crows”, the man wearing bones drawled. “Come to spy?”

Jaehaerys tilted his head, taking his measure. That was truly an exceptionally unimpressive horse he sat on, though the prince wasn't one to talk, not having had one for several weeks. “Do I look like a crow?”, he asked back.

He _liked_ wearing black; thought it suited him well – but that was reserved for his other life. Here, he'd struck out in brown leather, grey furs, and fabrics that had once been red, though they had long faded and accumulated a good amount of dirt. Still, his clothes very obviously weren't and had never been black, which was the point.

“A crow who's lost his feathers”, the wildling said. “And now he'll lose his life.” He drew a rusty axe, and Ghost stepped in front of Jaehaerys.

“Wait”, another wildling said. This was a woman, though taller than many men. “You ever seen a crow dressed like that? They'll always tell you who they are.”

“The other two are crows”, the bone man said, and Jaehaerys nodded.

“They are. I'm not.”

“Then what're you?” This came from another woman, a mass of curly red hair spilling out from under her helmet. “Southron, that much's clear.”

“I'll tell your king”, he replied. “Take us to him.”

The bone man wasn't impressed, holding his axe menacingly. If Jaehaerys used Longclaw and Creg had time to get Dark Sister, they and Pyp and Ghost stood a reasonable chance against this band – but it would be all the more difficult to convince the other hundred thousand of their good intentions. “Why'd we do that?”, the first woman asked. “So you can spy some more?”

Jaehaerys shrugged. “We're three men and a wolf. How much harm can we do?”

“Three boys, more like”, the bone man said. “Little boys about to shit themselves.”

“Yes, I'm trembling at the sight of you. Doesn't that just mean we're even more harmless?”

The wildlings exchanged glances. The bone man was clearly in favour of gutting them then and there, but if Jaehaerys had to guess, he'd say that the others were mostly curious.

“We could kill the crows and the beast and take the other one to Mance”, another man suggested, which wasn't the way he wanted them to think.

The redhead was more reasonable. “Could also kill whichever ones we want later”, she pointed out. “Not like they can run off, really. I say leave it to Mance.”

The other woman agreed, as did two of the men. Though Jaehaerys had assumed that the bone man was the leader, he reluctantly gave in. “Fine. But I want Mance to let me kill 'em, especially the one who says he's not a crow.”

With that, he turned his small horse around, and several others hopped off theirs to surround the prince, his companions, and Ghost. The wildlings immediately asked about the direwolf, but those questions were for Creg to answer.

The redhead walked beside him, and he could feel her curious gaze. “So who're you?”

“Told you”, he said. “I'll explain it to your king.”

That clearly didn't satisfy her. “Some sorta lordling”, she guessed.

He had to smile. “In a way, yes.”

“ _In a way, yes”_ , she repeated, exaggerating the way he spoke. And there he thought he'd learned to sound at least a bit more common ever since he'd arrived at the Wall.

“Well, my name's Ygritte”, she went on. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

Small chance of anyone here recognising Targaryen names. He looked at her, noticing an irregular round face and bluish eyes. “Jaehaerys”, he said, anticipating her reaction.

“Jae- what?” She shook her head. “Don't lie to me. That's not a name.”

He wasn't about to explain that centuries of history would disprove her. “You can call me Jon, if that's easier.”

“Jon”, she repeated. “Yeah, that's much better. Who the fuck would name their son Jae-whatever?”

The King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. “You'll find out soon enough”, he said. They had descended the ridge and reached the beginning of the encampment, walking some of the way in silence. Curious looks followed them, especially Creg and Pyp, and he felt bad for the way they had to be acutely aware that everyone assembled here saw them as the enemy.

He had questions, of course, but didn't want to ask – not after having been accused of spying not long ago. One felt safe enough, however. “So who's the bone man?”

Ygritte laughed, then lowered her voice. “Rattleshirt, though he likes being called the Lord o' Bones. No idea what his mother named him.”

“I thought your people didn't have lords”, he said.

She shrugged. “Some do. The Thenns are more like you kneelers than you'd think.”

Taking a wild guess, he said: “Rattleshirt isn't a Thenn.”

“He's not”, she confirmed. “So you know much about the free folk, _Jon_?”

“A little.” He'd read everything he could find, and talked to the black brothers as much as he'd been able to, though he suspected that their accounts were often biased. “There's still much to learn.”

“And why d'you wanna learn it?” Now, she seemed just slightly suspicious. Had they been at court, he would've suspected her of trying to ply him with friendliness in order to get answers out of him.

“I'll tell your king”, he said once more. They'd walked past all sorts of people – some sparring or making weapons, others cooking, sowing, or minding children. Then, they reached a tent far larger than the others, covered in the hides of snow bears and decorated with elk antlers.

Kings were much the same anywhere, he supposed. Ghost had to stay outside, though they weren't concerned for his safety. Creg and Pyp followed him inside the tent, as did Ygritte, clearly wanting to satisfy her curiosity.

Jaehaerys was nothing but astonished when he realised that a man sitting in one corner of the tent was playing _The Dornishman's Wife_. Many of his family members had strong opinions relating to the song, and quite differing ones at that – Uncle Oberyn loved it, for instance, while Rhaenys would immediately threaten the life of anyone even thinking of singing it. His father, for all his musical talents, would rather have his tongue ripped out than utter the words.

The entirely unexpected melody briefly distracted him from assessing the situation in the tent, though he had just about enough time to register that there were three men – the singer, a large bearded warrior ferociously devouring a chicken, and an earless but clean-shaven one who'd easily fit into the Red Keep if he wore different clothes – as well as two women; one pregnant and roasting chickens that made his mouth water, the other one strikingly beautiful, languidly letting her eyes wander over him and his companions.

“ _... and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife”_ , the bard concluded. Then he looked up at them and tilted his head. “Ever had a Dornishwoman?”

Creg coughed, scandalised, while Pyp sighed wistfully. “Dorne is far away”, Jaehaerys said. “But don't we all wish we were there?” He certainly did.

The bard snorted at that. “Who are these ones?”, he asked Ygritte.

“He says he's not a crow”, she replied, pointing at him. “Those two are. They want to talk to you.”

That spared him having ask which one of these men was actually Mance Rayder. The bard – perhaps a taste for music was a kingly trait as well.

He felt the man's eyes on him. The King-Beyond-the-Wall wore no jewels nor finery, only a tattered cloak over wool and leather. “Not a black brother”, he said, nodding. “Tell me, then.”

“I am Prince Jaehaerys of House Targaryen”, he said. “Royal legate to the Night's Watch and the lands beyond the Wall.”

The bearded chicken-eater began to laugh, though the earless man did not. He knew Ygritte was looking at him intently.

“I see”, Mance Rayder said. “Lyanna Stark's son, I take it.”

He did look more like a Stark than most of the actual House did. “I am. My companions are two sworn brothers of the Night's Watch: Cregan Snow, and Pypar.”

“Cregan Snow”, the King-Beyond-the-Wall repeated. “The bastard of Winterfell.”

The man was well-informed, and Creg reluctantly confirmed his identity.

Mance Rayder rose, and then introduced those around them. The earless man was the Magnar of Thenn; a people some of the books he'd read described as the most civilised of wildlings. Then there was Tormund, who seemed to go by a whole plethora of increasingly grandiose nicknames. The pregnant woman was Dalla, who was the closest thing the wildlings had to a queen, and the more beautiful one her sister Val.

Mance Rayder then commanded everyone to leave, including Pyp and Creg, whose safety he was assured of. They sat down with roast chicken and ale; something Jaehaerys appreciated greatly, as he was famished. Only Dalla remained with them.

“So, royal legate”, the wilding said. “Tell me what your father wants, from one king to another.”

He savoured a bite of succulent meat under crispy skin, then nodded at the woman. “Excellent chicken... my lady? Your Grace? I am not familiar with the titles used by the free folk.”

“Call me Dalla”, she said, and he shrugged.

“Fine. Now.” He turned back to Mance Rayder. “My royal father knows about our common enemy; he has for many years. We have been preparing for the Others for as long as I've been alive. You have been preparing, too, it is clear.”

If the King-Beyond-the-Wall was surprised at that, he didn't show it. “We have. We've been banding together. We need to, considering what awaits anyone alone in the woods.”

“I know.” He had a swig of ale, which could be better. “I've fought them. Wights and an Other.”

That did surprise Mance Rayder. “And you survived?”

“Dragonglass”, he replied. “And I can tell you that Valyrian steel doesn't break when you bring it against their swords, though I don't know if it kills them. Either way, my point is that we _know_.” Jaehaerys looked the king in the eyes. “My father offers you and all your people the opportunity to come and live south of the Wall.”

“I see.” Mance Rayder had said that quickly, though he now took his time drinking. “And he makes this offer out of the goodness of his heart?”

“He makes it because he does not wish for a hundred thousand additional wights.”

The other man nodded slowly, then gnawed on a bone. “I assume this hinges on me bending the knee.”

“Naturally.” He pulled the breast meat apart with his hands, briefly imagining his siblings' looks of disgust at the idea of unseasoned chicken. It still beat anything else he'd eaten since leaving Castle Black. “There can only be one king south of the Wall. On the other hand, you would be pardoned for your desertion of the Night's Watch.”

The King-Beyond-the-Wall sighed deeply. “You call us wildlings, but we use another name for ourselves: the free folk. I did not gain my title by inheritance, but by persuasion – and by killing a man or two.” Jaehaerys could guess where this was going. “These hundred-thousand people you saw outside follow me because they chose to. Even if I wanted to bend the knee to your father, many wouldn't accept it.”

The prince made to reply, but Mance Rayder wasn't done. “And then what? They have to live on some lord's land – an idea alien to them, I should add – and work another man's fields; live by another man's laws? Remain in one place, give up part of their harvest, lose a limb or their heads if they hunt in the wrong woods? Not to speak of the bad blood there is between the free folk and many of the northern lords. Starks most of all.”

Jaehaerys gave the only answer he thought appropriate: a shrug. “Is that truly worse than dying and becoming a slave to the Others?” Gesticulating with a bone, he went on: “Your people could be settled along the Gift and all over the North. Yes, there would be issues; many of them. But they would be south of the Wall, and live under the king's peace, protected from the Others by the king's armies. Besides – what else did you think to do? The Seven Kingdoms are strong. The _Watch_ is strong. You would never make it past the Wall if you attacked, and even if you did, you'd all be slaughtered on the other side. You can't tell me you didn't amass this host hoping for in invitation such as this; knowing that we have been preparing for close to two decades.”

Mance Rayder exchanged a look with Dalla, who was pretending to be busy by arranging a stack of furs. “We have come together so we could fight them together.”

“You alone?” Jaehaerys vaguely pointed at the outside of the tent. “I don't believe you. I'm sure your people fight bravely, but you have nothing. No discipline, no proper weapons, no defensive structures. We have real armies, castles, dragonglass – and dragons, of course. I'm sure you know how wights react to fire.”

“Where are those dragons, anyway?”, the king asked. “I'm disappointed you came on foot with two black brothers who can't have said their vows more than a year ago instead of a ferocious, fire-spitting beast.”

He also knew that Jaehaerys was a dragon rider, then. “Dragons can't be flown past the Wall, nor around it. Believe me, I've tried.”

Mance Rayder frowned. “Then how can they help us fight the Others?”

 _Us_. A good sign. “I am sure they will”, the prince replied. “That must've been the reason they hatched, after all this time. But if they can't cross the Wall – well, that's a terrifying thought, is it not?” The look in the king's eyes told Jaehaerys he agreed. “It's obvious that you can never hope to survive out here, and it's in our mutual interest for you to accept the offer and lead your people south. Keep in mind that there are no laws preventing anyone from returning north. Once it is all done, anyone who wants to return to their old lives may do so.”

“You seem confident that it _will_ all be done”, Mance Rayder said. “Do you believe you are so well-prepared down south that victory is certain?”

Deep down? Yes. “No”, he said. “But if we all die, then we're dead. There's no use in discussing laws and fealty in that case.”

“A fair point”, the king admitted. “The truth remains, however, that my people cannot and will not accept me swearing fealty to your father; some silk-clad southroner claiming he should rule them because his ancestor conquered the south three-hundred years ago. It would mean nothing to them.”

Jaehaerys thought this entire discussion pointless, considering just how clear it was that the wildlings had a choice between accepting the offer or ending up as wights. “The free folk have leaders, too”, he said. “I doubt you spoke to each and every one of your hundred-thousand to ensure their individual obedience. As their leaders agreed to follow you, you must agree to follow my father.”

Slowly shaking his head, Mance Rayder pushed away his plate of chicken bones. Dalla immediately grabbed it and went to throw the bones into a pot of simmering broth. “Rhaegar, First of His Name”, he said. “Famed for a court full of artists and scholars, a singing voice I'm sure I would be jealous of, and not riding a dragon even though his sister and two of his children do. Two wives, to be sure – both outshining him; one for her patronage of the arts, the other for a spirit more fierce than his own. Half a maester, half a septon. My people would think him weak.”

Jaehaerys smiled. It was a misconception his father usually had no trouble rectifying. “Balon Greyjoy thought him weak”, he pointed out. “Now, his head lies at the bottom of the Sunset Sea. The lords who didn't want to pay their fair share to the Watch thought the same. Many where then forced to join it, though some were slain by the king's own hand. Others, still, died in mysterious but reliably horrid ways.”

The King-Beyond-the-Wall hummed, looking at him over his ale. “There is the other side one hears about. A cold man with a horrid scar from the time his own father tried to kill him, an act for which he paid him back in kind. The absolute authority in a family of dragon riders; master of one wife who'll smile at his enemies while poisoning them at a play she had put on just for the occasion, and of another who once stormed into the Citadel surrounded by a flock of crows and told the maesters she'd have all their eyes pecked out if they refused his orders.” Jaehaerys snorted at the memory. “A ruthless general and suspected sorcerer.”

When one heard it put that way, it wasn't surprising that Aegon was obsessed with their Houses' history and the writings of magisters and princes all over the world. It wouldn't be easy for him to live up to this. “Two things”, the prince said. “Firstly, my royal father did not kill his own sire. Secondly, all allegations of his practicing sorcery are entirely correct.”

That made Mance Rayder chuckle, though Dalla looked up from her pot of broth with a horrified expression. “I see”, the king said. “Now, where does that leave us? My people fear sorcerers, but they could never trust one. Your father's sort of strength is not the kind they follow.”

Jaehaerys clicked his tongue. “I am not asking your people to love him. I am asking _you_ to ensure that they come south of the Wall and behave themselves for long enough to give us time to defeat the true enemy.” After emptying his ale, he added: “You will meet my king, one way or another. Which face he wears then is for you to decide – perhaps you'll play a song together. Perhaps he'll have your head.”

The King-Beyond-the-Wall seemed pensive. “Let me consider all this, young prince. In the meantime, you and your companions are my guests.” Then he wrinkled his brow. “Were you really just sent out with those two boys, or are there a few experienced rangers lurking around somewhere thinking we've abducted you?”

“We were more, before we were attacked.” Quite sure he was being dismissed, Jaehaerys rose. “One you might have known. Qhorin Halfhand.”

“What happened to him?”

The memory remained horrifying. “An Other.”

“Bastards”, Mance Rayder murmured, and drained his cup.

After a night of what appeared to be fevered discussions taking place in the king's tent, a decision was made: to delay a real decision. On the positive side, it was resolved that the wildling host would move further south towards the Wall (an inevitable outcome in any case, he supposed), and that Jaehaerys and his companions would travel ahead, accompanied by representatives of the free folk.

Tormund the Many-Titled was one of them, which Jaehaerys took as a good sign, considering that he was clearly close to Mance Rayder. Then there was Sigorn, the heir to the Magnar of Thenn; a choice that would be seen as appropriate south of the Wall, even if the man hardly spoke the Common Tongue. Regrettably, Rattleshirt and his troupe formed the rest of their group. The prince would have had no problem with this, hadn't it been for the Lord of Bones' persistent belligerence.

“I'm still not entirely confident he won't cut our throats while we sleep”, Cregan confessed as they made camp one night, setting up a tent Mance Rayder had given them.

Pyp was less concerned. He'd begun to regain some of his former cheerfulness, which was a relief. “That's what Ghost is for”, he said. “I'm surprised he's not mistaken that shirt for a string of toys so far.”

The wildlings seemed to have mixed feelings about the direwolf – on the one hand, he clearly terrified them. On the other, he had a habit of bringing them meat, which Jaehaerys had commanded Creg and Pyp to share with their companions.

He was trying to bring the black brothers and the free folk together, though mistrust ran deep. Not all of the wildlings entirely believed that he wasn't a sworn brother, either, despite his best attempts to prove it.

“It would be insane for me to join the Watch”, he explained that night, after having eaten with the few wildlings who didn't seem like they wanted to slice him open. “That would mean never being allowed to wed or have children, and I'm a prince. I have to.”

Sigorn of Thenn nodded knowingly, even though Tormund and Ygritte were still confused by the concept. “Like I”, he declared through his thick accent. “Father die, I am Magnar. I die, son is Magnar.” Jaehaerys sometimes tried to speak to him in the Old Tongue and thought that Sigorn appreciated it, even if (or maybe just because) he often found his attempts highly amusing, as did Tormund.

“So”, Ygritte said, tilting her head, “when your father dies, you become king of everything south of the Wall?”

“No”, he admitted. “I have an older brother. He'll be king.”

“And you won't fight him for it?”, she asked.

That made him laugh. “Why would I do that? Being king is hard, and he'll make a far better one than I ever could.”

Tormund approved. “Brothers shouldn't fight each other, unless it's about a woman.”

That, too, was unlikely to happen. “So if you won't be king”, Ygritte said, “what's the point of being a prince?”

He accepted a cup of mead Tormund handed him. “It means many things. The benefit is that I can have and do anything I want, unless it goes against my father's orders. Or the interests of our House.” Jaehaerys tried the mead. “Or those of the realm. Or – well, let's just say it brings a lot of responsibility.”

She was still confused. “I can actually do whatever I want. Sounds like you're much less free than me.”

“I never claimed I was free. Also”, and this was clearly the best part, “it means I have a dragon.”

Now, it was Ygritte's turn to laugh. “Are all princes liars?”

“I'm not lying.” Annoyingly, the other spearwife was calling for her. “I'll show you at Castle Black”, he promised as she got up. “Maybe I'll even take you for a ride.”

She laughed again. “Aye, we'll see if you can.”

As she walked off, Tormund grinned at him. “Take her for a ride, huh? Show her your dragon?”

Jaehaerys shrugged. “If she wants to see it.” He hadn't expected to bed a slightly plain yet charming wildling girl on this tour beyond the Wall, but if that was to be the outcome, he wouldn't complain.

Sigorn had clearly lost track of the conversation, quick as it had been. “Dragon?”, he asked.

Jaehaerys knew the word in the Old Tongue. When he told him, his eyes went wide and he shook his head. “Liar”, Sigorn alleged.

The prince rolled his eyes. “So, Tormund. Tell me how exactly stealing works, and how I can bed a woman of the free folk without doing it.” His father wouldn't appreciate him accidentally wedding a wildling, after all, even if the marriage was unlikely to be recognised south of the Wall.

They were to spend the following night in a cave, which everyone was looking forward to. Snowfall had been heavy that day. Jaehaerys was well aware that he wouldn't have ever found his way around in these lands if it hadn't been for various companions – first the Halfhand and the mysterious elk-riding dead man leading them to the children of the forest, then Bloodraven sending him visions to bring him to Mance Rayder, and finally the experienced wildlings with their knowledge of the landscape. He wouldn't have had anything but the clothes on his back and Longclaw, either, had they not been supplied with all necessities (and a new dragonglass dagger) by first the children and then the King-Beyond-the Wall. Without them, the prince, Pyp, and Creg would have never survived a day such as this one, he had to admit, even if the snow wasn't coming in as heavily once dusk came upon them, and was replaced by an especially icy chill.

Looking back, that should've been enough of a warning, but he'd been too focused on feeling miserable because he was cold and hungry, trodding along while trying to make himself believe he was with Dany and Rhae racing their dragons. Or at a feast in the Red Keep, listening to Aegon recount the court gossip. Winterfell. Sunspear. Summerhall. Just anywhere else, really.

The wights attacked them close to the end of the day's march. He had no idea where they'd come from, but suddenly they were everywhere, initiating it all by jumping one of Rattleshirt's men and tearing him apart.

He learned some things about his new companions in this fight. Sigorn cursed the wights incessantly as he hacked them to pieces and fought like someone who'd had a certain degree of formal training, prompting the prince to consider just how good he'd be with steel instead of bronze. Tormund was all he'd promised, so strong the blows of his stone axe seemed to turn the older wights' bones into dust, tearing some of their limbs off with his bare hands. Ygritte, who usually preferred a bow and arrow, knew how to handle a spear, and at one point used it to pick off a wight clinging to Creg's leg. There were no cowards among the free folk.

Jaehaerys hadn't seen Rattleshirt die, but thought things were only going to get worse when he came towards him with his axe raised – not only because he was quite sure that newer wights were harder to kill than old ones, but also because that meant there had to be an Other nearby, having just raised him.

Swearing, the prince severed the legs of one creature he'd been fighting, only to be jumped by another. He had no time for an undead Rattleshirt; wasn't able to do more than stick Longclaw into his chest through the gaps in those bones he wore – as if that would do anything to a wight. Ghost did him the favour of mauling the other one, then, and so he could get back to -

Almost dropping Longclaw, as Rattleshirt's legs had given in. Full of furious suspicion, Jaehaerys ripped his ridiculous giant's skull helmet off his head.

His eyes weren't blue. He was certainly dead now, but he hadn't been before he'd met Longclaw.

That treacherous son of a whore. Everyone else seemed to be too busy fighting to pay him much mind, so he plunged the dragonglass dagger into Rattleshirt's cheek, cutting his face open with the ragged edge to make it look more like he had been killed by a wight.

He wasn't proud of it, but the man was dead already, and he didn't know if the wildlings would believe him if he told the truth.

Mance Rayder had told him that wildlings were suspicious of sorcery. That didn't change the fact that their dead needed to be burned, and that their environment was everything but suited to building a fire.

It didn't even attract much comment, possibly because all were still in shock. Tormund only asked him why he hadn't used that fire against “those dead fuckers” after they'd finally reached the promised cave, as if he could've smeared a little bit of blood on each of the wights, struck sparks, and summoned that much focus in the heat of the attack.

Next to Rattleshirt, they'd lost two others of his band, bringing their numbers down from eleven to eight. All things considered, that wasn't too bad, and they were nearing the Wall.

The entrance to the cave would be watched closely, however. With Cregan and Sigorn standing guard, Jaehaerys found that most of their group seemed deflated, quietly watching their cook fires. Ragwyle, the exceptionally large woman, was bandaging Pyp's injured arm – so perhaps something good had come out of it all, besides being rid of Rattleshirt.

Looking around, he noticed that Ygritte wasn't there, then just about saw the light catch in her hair as her small frame wandered deeper into the cave. Jaehaerys followed, and if anyone even noticed, they didn't say.

She was by a waterfall forming a pond. The sound of it between all these rocks was oddly reminiscent of Bloodraven's cave.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, and she turned to him with a start before her posture relaxed. “Don't sneak up on me like that. Was ready to throw the torch at you.”

“Sorry.” He wasn't sure just how much damage that would've done, as his body's reaction to flames seemed to vary depending on the situation. “But again – what are you doing? There could be wights in here.”

She scoffed. “It's not cold enough for them. I was just looking around.” A good enough reason. “What're _you_ doing here?”

Jaehaerys came closer, thinking that she looked quite pretty in this light, although he never would've looked twice at her at court (but then again, who'd look at anyone else if Dany was there?). “I wanted to talk to you”, he said. “To thank you. I saw you save Creg.”

“'Course I did”, she said first, then reconsidered. “I mean, I'd have been happy to kill a crow in different times, but now... now they might come back even worse, so it's better to keep 'em alive.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “D'you think he wouldn't have saved me?”

Jaehaerys snorted. “Cregan Snow would save anyone from anything without thinking twice, _especially_ a woman.”

Rolling her eyes, Ygritte walked towards him as well. “I thought you're not a crow”, she said. “Why d'you care so much if he lives?”

“He's my cousin. We've known each other our whole lives.” He was saying this absent-mindedly, internally debating whether he could turn this situation in a very different direction – and also, if it would be terribly inappropriate to do so. People had just died. He'd just cut a man's face open.

It was possible that Ygritte was thinking along the same lines, from the way she was coming ever closer. “I'll accept your thanks then, Jon or whatever you're called.” Then, she looked him over and stated: “Men like your crow cousin aren't meant to bed women.”

He waved a hand. “They're not meant to wed or father children. I'd argue that that's not the same, but some think it applies to bedding in general. Creg does.”

She took another step towards him, the flickering light of the torch making her eyes look dark blue. “You're free in that way, though.”

This was going well, and he hadn't needed to bring up the topic at all. “I can't just go around getting married and having bastards, either”, Jaehaerys said. “Anything else is my own business.”

“I'd imagine it's easy”, she went on. “Southron girls will just spread their legs for you cause you're a prince.”

Now he came closer; close enough to touch. Her hair was a tangled mess, but he had the impulse to twirl a lock around his finger, so he did. “They would”, Jaehaerys admitted. “Though I only bed the ones who really want me. It wouldn't be the same if they didn't.”

Kissed by fire, Tormund had said the wildlings called people with red hair. Fitting. “And how'd you know?”, she asked.

The prince smirked down at her, wondering how long it would take to get both of them out of all these layers of clothes. “Some just say it.” There was nothing like a Dornish feast. “Others look at me a certain way.”

“Which way?” There was something surprisingly shy about her smile.

A perfect prompt. “The way you do.” Then he kissed her, and she dropped any pretences.

_Castle Black, a moon later_

“Well, aren't you smooth.”

He hadn't planned on telling her quite this much, but they'd had a good amount of mulled wine at this point. “Also”, Dany continued, “I find it shocking that the wildlings sound more sensible than most people I talked to across the Narrow Sea.”

“They know the threat is real”, he pointed out. “And they are the most affected. Then there are also the likes of Rattleshirt, of course.”

She nodded slowly, staring into her cup. “Was he the first man you killed? One who had been alive before, that is.”

“Yes.” Jaehaerys had contemplated it often, and come to a simple conclusion. “It was accidental, in a way. I assume you didn't have to do any killing?”

She looked him in the eyes. “That is where you are wrong.”


	5. The Golden Company I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany/Daario all throughout.

_Tyrosh, the middle of the 5 th moon of the year 299 AC_

The sellswords had set up just outside the city walls, near the Bleeding Tower. True to their name, their camp was not only orderly and well-fortified, but also splendid – golden banners, men wearing golden arm rings, and a golden tent for the captain-general. Even some of the elephants wore gold.

Coming to a halt before the tent, Dany contemplated the gilded skulls displayed outside. She wasn't entirely sure which message they were meant to convey.

The soldiers who'd brought them in stood to attention when a man came forth from the tent, just as Daario helped her dismount. “The noble Marea Pandaerys”, he said. “It is an honour to welcome you to the Golden Company. I am the captain-general, Ser Harry Strickland.”

She fought the urge to touch her necklace; something she'd been doing too much ever since the beginning of her journey. Melisandre's glamour was tied to it, and should it come off, her true face would be revealed.

Dany doubted that any of the men here would know who she was, and she'd originally considered posing as the first magister Dagareon's daughter instead of his wife – in which case she likely could have gone without a disguise. His wife, however, would be more likely to be sent on such a mission.

Remembering the woman's manner, Dany cast a cold glance over Strickland before she held out her hand in the most haughty way possible. He looked more like a kindly old man than a mercenary commander. “It is my pleasure to be here”, she said in a tone that implied anything but, adding just the slightest hint of a Lysene accent to her High Valyrian.

She withdrew her hand quickly after Strickland had kissed the air above it, as Marea Pandaerys wouldn't like being touched by someone well below her standards of beauty. “I see you have brought a local guard”, Strickland said with a glance at Daario.

The sellsword had died his hair and beard purple, and she'd even been able to persuade him to forego the golden whiskers for the occasion. “Of course”, she replied, not bothering to introduce him because the first magister's wife certainly wouldn't. “Otherwise, I could not be assured of my safety in a place so...”, her eyes flicked towards the city walls with a tiny sneer, “lively as Tyrosh.”

Strickland bid her inside the tent. It was elegantly furnished, though there were only two things Dany truly noticed. One was the man now rising to his feet – clearly of Valyrian ancestry, he looked much like Viserys. A younger Rhaegar, a paler Aegon... If any of them wore ostentatious amounts of jewellery and painted their fingernails.

The other thing was the sword. A bastard sword of Valyrian steel, a ruby on its pommel and tiny dragon heads on the crossguard, it was on proud display on a rack, together with a black scabbard decorated with well-polished silver.

She pried her eyes away from it, and towards the man currently being introduced. “… Lysono Maar”, Strickland explained. “Our spymaster.”

When he kissed her hand, she didn't flinch away as hastily. “It is good to see a lady from my lovely home”, he said, sounding very Lysene.

“Likewise”, she replied, though cooly. Dany was quite sure that the Maars weren't a noble family. “Would you not rather fight for your own than”, she made a disparaging gesture to the outside of the tent, “ _Tyrosh_?”

“It is not my decision to make, noble Marea.” A spymaster _and_ a Lyseni – she would need to be careful about this one.

Dany took the seat that was offered to her, facing the captain-general. “We were very surprised when we received you letter, fair lady”, he said as Lysono Maar passed her wine in a golden cup. Daario stood straight behind her. “Reports had reached us that your husband was hosting a queen and a princess from the Seven Kingdoms.”

She tasted the wine, immediately recognising it as Arbor Gold. Of course. “He still is”, she replied. “The Dornishwoman is there to talk trade, but the little girl spins tall tales of undead foes coming in from their savage north. I do not believe that I am missing much.”

“But doesn't this little girl have a dragon?”, the spymaster asked. “That must be a sight to behold.”

Dany tried to look vaguely annoyed. “The beast will not land in the city, all thanks be to Our Weeping Lady. From what I have seen, it is large, loud, and consumes its weight in gold.”

This brought the conversation to its purported purpose. Strickland asked what they would gain from fighting for Lys instead of Tyrosh, she asked how much the Archon was willing to pay, he gave a number. She called it a lie, he pointed out that elephants didn't feed themselves, she insisted he was exaggerating. Strickland leaned back, asking what Lys might offer. Dany named a price she believed to be low but not outright insulting, he pretended to be offended nonetheless.

In the end, she was beginning to fear that she might be in the process of actually recruiting the Golden Company for Lys, which would undoubtedly be a surprise to the magisters. “You drive a hard bargain, noble Marea”, Lysono Maar said. “Is that how your husband was able to finally raise the taxes owed by the weavers' guild?”

Good thing she'd listened to Elia when she'd told her all about their hosts. “You are in need of a new spymaster”, she told Strickland. “This one does not know that the weavers' guild's taxes were raised by my husband's predecessor, Dandero Haen.” The loss of their support had cost him his reelection as first magister.

“I stand corrected.” Lysono Maar dipped his head.

The captain-general then sighed, declaring that he had another engagement to attend, but that he would like to continue their negotiations on the morrow. He offered, as she had hoped, the opportunity for her to spend the night in their camp, and Dany declared that she would greatly prefer this to the stink of Tyrosh.

The Golden Company were accustomed to hosting noble guests. The tent she was given was nearly as ostentatious as Strickland's and next to his own. There wasn't much time before she was to dine there with the spymaster, and they'd have to move quickly – especially if they wanted to take hold of Blackfyre before the captain-general returned from the city, where he was being feasted by the Archon.

“The old man is weak”, Daario declared as soon as they were alone. “I could easily -”

She laid a finger on his lips. “Whisper.”

The sellsword put his hands around her hips and drew her closer. They'd begun laying with each other the first night of their journey to Tyrosh; down in the small cabin he'd booked on her behalf. They'd posed as a Tyroshi merchant and his newly acquired Lysene slave. “This is very strange”, Daario whispered, eyes gleaming. “If I had you like this, it would be as if I'd fucked the first magister's wife.”

She lightly hit his chest. “Focus. What were you saying about Strickland?”

“I could simply slip into his tent while he's sleeping, cut his throat, and take the sword. Kill a guard as well and wear his armour, you take off that necklace, and then we leave the camp as if I was a soldier bringing his whore back to the pillow house.”

There was more posing as slaves and whores than she'd like, but Dany supposed this had been inevitable. “Do not forget Maar”, she said. “Besides, I would rather do this without killing any of their high officers.”

Daario was incredulous. “Princess. I thought you hated these men for their history with your family.”

“It is not that I do not want them to die”, she explained, though that wasn't entirely true. “But it would attract more attention to this than it should.”

Lysono Maar's eyes didn't leave the cups as Daario poured them wine. This was fine, considering that it distracted him from noticing the substance Dany poured into the soup.

She'd had an antidote before. Truly, Tyene Sand's nameday gift of a whole array of poisons in perfume vials had been very considerate.

“I hope you can forgive this poor fare”, the spymaster said after accepting his cup while a page filled Dany's bowl with a rich seafood stew. Plump prawns, mussels, and pieces of flakey white fish swam in a broth made with fennel, wine, and saffron. “Our brotherhood of exiles is unable to afford the very best of cooks.” She made a sign to Daario, who left the tent along with the page.

After what she'd eaten on the ship, Dany thought the soup looked and smelled delicious, but Marea Pandaerys would never admit to such a thing. “It will do”, she said, adopting a more Lysene tone than she had with the captain-general. “Perhaps you will be able to do better once you take up contract with Lys.”

They raised their cups as a toast, and she felt his eyes studying her, unsure if he was suspicious or merely admiring Pandaerys' beauty. “I must confess, I did not ask to dine with you in order to speak of the contract. I merely miss my home, and would be glad to hear of any news you might have.”

It was possible that the first magister's wife would have known why he'd gone into exile, so Dany didn't ask. “Once again”, she replied, “you appear to be a terrible spymaster. Or merely a thorough one, wishing to hear from any source he can find.”

“I like to think it is the latter.” Lysono Maar tore off a piece of pillowy white bread, dipping it in the broth. “Is Tregar Ormollen still ruled by that Westerosi woman?”

“Naturally.” Dany broke a piece of fish apart with her spoon (gilded, of course). It had seemed to her as if the Lady Lynesse and Dagareon's wife were on relatively good terms. “She stems from Oldtown, which is unquestionably the least backward part of the Sunset Kingdoms, so I am not terribly surprised.”

The spymaster hummed, tearing the head of a prawn off with his hands. “And his wife?”

What was her name again? Dany held a mussel shell down with a piece of bread while she liberated the flesh, giving Maar time to suck at the head. “Mirei”, that was it, “is a sweet woman. Very kind, very generous.” Among the trading families of Lys, these weren't compliments.

“I see.” He began to deftly break open the prawn's shell. “Oh, and I forgot, which is terribly rude of me – I must congratulate you on your daughter's engagement, of course. When is the ceremony to take place?”

The betrothal had not yet been announced, and Dany only knew of it because the girl had drunkenly complained about it to her one time, undoubtedly glad to have someone to talk to who was of her own age and not overly invested in Lysene politics. “I do not know what you speak of”, she said icily.

“Ah, is that so?” Before continuing, he savoured the prawn's sweet flesh, then had several spoonfuls of the broth. “Perhaps I am a terrible spymaster after all. Or an excellent one.”

Regretfully, she was quite sure that Marea Pandaerys wouldn't touch the prawns in her soup; the whole process of eating them being far too messy. She had more of the fish. “Do you wish for me to assure you of your competence?”, she asked.

“I am quite assured of it already. Which is why I must confess that this entire conversation is highly confusing to me, as – oh.” Lysono Maar blinked rapidly, ran a hand over his face, and looked at her with accusing eyes. “You poisoned me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Please, stop pretending. Before I die, tell me -”

“You will not die”, she interrupted. “Only sleep for a few hours.”

The spymaster blinked some more, either out of surprise or an attempt to stay awake. “Thank you. Now – who are you? Your impression of the noble Marea is very good, but I served her once. She would have recognised me.”

Oh well, she thought. His head sacked down and he needed to hold onto the table with his hands, so Dany rose, taking him by the hand and helping him stand. “Perhaps you will understand on the morrow”, she said, leading him over to the bed. “When you wake, I would recommend you only drink water throughout the day. No wine, ale, mead, or liquor.”

He collapsed into the bed, and she wasn't sure if he'd heard her. Then again, drink wouldn't kill him, only delay the recovery.

Dany poked her head outside the tent, where Daario stood on one side of the flap and a soldier of the company on the other. “Have you seen to the horses?”, she asked the captain.

He bowed his head, and she returned inside. Dany went to the small chest of her belongings they'd brought – not much, knowing that they'd have to leave it. She took off her necklace, and then the Lysene gown she'd been wearing; one of the ones Pandaerys herself had gifted her. When Daario pushed the solider inside, he had a brief opportunity to look deeply confused about seeing her stand there in this state of undress, and then the sellsword cut his throat with his stiletto.

“A good last thing to see”, Daario said, and she forced herself to look at the man's blood. The first death she'd ever ordered.

Dany shook her head before they both changed. She pulled her dragon riding leathers out of the chest, slipping the necklace into a pocket once she wore them, a nondescript black cloak with a hood on top. Daario was taking longer, and she had to help him into the armour.

“Ready?”, he asked, and she shrugged. There was no going back now. Daario sliced open the canvas of her tent, bringing them right next to the captain-general's. The cloth-of-gold parted easily under his blade, and they were inside only a few heartbeats later.

Luckily, Strickland hadn't returned yet. Dany smiled as she took Blackfyre out of its stand, trying it out – it was longer than she'd like, but then again, she didn't expect to be the one wielding it. She was just about to slide it into the scabbard when they heard Strickland's voice outside, bidding someone goodnight.

She cursed under her breath, starting to the slit Daario had made in the tent, but he got in her way. “If he comes in and finds the sword gone, he'll immediately sound the alarm.”

“So what -”, she began to ask, and then Strickland came inside; thankfully alone. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and for him to grasp the situation, which gave her just about enough time to press Blackfyre's tip to his throat.

Well. In this moment, Dany understood that she had no choice – Strickland stared at her, wide-eyed, and was about to open his mouth to call for help. Before he could, she jammed the blade forward.

By the gods, it was sharp. She'd stabbed dead pigs before with normal swords, as Ser Arthur thought that anyone who used a weapon should learn how much force it took to bring them against flesh. Blackfyre, however, went through Strickland's throat like warm butter, and she could only barely tell when it cut through his spine.

No time to think. Dany caught Daario's approving look, wiped the blade on the captain-general's body, and slid it into the scabbard to hide under her cloak. They slipped outside, Daario casually untied their horses from where they'd been by her tent, and they tried to look as if they had every right to do what they were doing.

It was very quiet. The men of the Golden Company weren't the type for late-night revelry, it would seem, and didn't expect anything untoward to happen within their own encampment, either. Certainly not what they'd just done.

Daario's armour clanked loudly as they walked, though Dany was sure that her heartbeat was even louder. If anyone decided he needed to have word with Strickland at this hour, or someone wondered why there wasn't anyone outside her tent, or she'd got the dosage wrong and Lysono Maar woke...

Daario would die, and she'd be taken prisoner after revealing her identity. Not to speak of the way Rhaegar would certainly lock her up in some tower for a few years if she somehow made it out alive, following the lecture of a lifetime.

She was clutching Blackfyre in her hands under her cloak, much less heavy than it looked and yet feeling as if it was dragging her down. Strickland, Strickland... they'd been exiled for their support of the first Pretender, so killing one of their House with Blackfyre had been appropriate. Had this man had children? Had she ended his line? It had been stupid to think she could do all of this without any blood on her hands.

“Who goes?”, a voice asked when they'd reached the end of the encampment, and a man of the Golden Company approached. Guarding the camp, clearly.

Daario smirked at him. “Just bringing my lovely companion back into the city.”

The man came closer, squinting under her hood, and Dany made sure he could see her face. “Got in the mood after seeing that Lysene lady?”, he asked Daario. His accent was difficult to place, and he looked Westerosi. Perhaps one of those who'd been raised inside the Company.

“Just so.” The man hummed, then cast a look at their horses. “She's come with her own horse? And such a beauty? You must've paid a fortune.” Dany briefly closed her eyes, opening her senses in search for a certain presence.

Daario shrugged, tugging at his beard. “I have the pleasure of being from here. There are many men in Tyrosh who owe me a favour.”

The guard hummed again. “Well, I'll do you a favour and let you pass without telling the captain, but you've got to introduce me to some of your friends then. What's your name?”

He was near, she could feel it. “Qoro Aranis. I serve under Serjeant Mudd, the young one.”

Nodding, the guard stepped aside. “Go then, Qoro Aranis, and bring your whore back to Tyrosh in one piece. Wouldn't want that one taken advantage of.”

Dany pressed her lips together, briefly contemplating using Blackfyre once more. Instead, she walked past the man, let Daario help her into the saddle, and the both of them made for the city gates. In her mind, she called out.

“How did you know?”, she asked once they were at a safe distance, though not yet far enough to spur their horses into a gallop. “That serjeant's name.”

“Because I have been a sellsword for many years, and that means knowing about the Golden Company. It was pure luck that this man apparently doesn't know Mudd's soldiers very well.”

Then, they heard shouts from far back in the camp. Dany exchanged a look with Daario, both knowing that they couldn't be sure if their actions were the cause for the commotion – but they still came to the silent understanding that it was time to ride for their lives.

“Hey!”, the guard from earlier shouted behind them. Dany leaned low, pressing her face to the horse's neck. It was a fast one, purchased when she'd pretended to be Marea Pandaerys.

They raced not towards the city walls, but to the beach. _Māzīs_ , she called out in her head. _Māzīs, māzīs..._

He was here. She could not only feel but also hear Dāero now, the ripple of his enormous wings causing the sand to fly in their faces.

Looking behind, Dany couldn't see anyone pursuing them, though there were shouts that sounded like they were coming closer. “Daario!”, she called out to the captain. “Stop!”

His horse stumbled to a halt. “Do you truly think this is a good time to stop?”

“Yes.” Dany jumped off her horse just as her dragon became visible in the night sky; the black of his body obscuring the stars. At the age of seventeen, all three dragons of her House were the size of a handsome King's Landing manse.

She heard Daario's awe-struck gasp as he beheld the dragon up-close for the first time, and all but dragged him out of the saddle. The horses were very obviously nervous, but that no longer mattered.

They ran down towards Dāero, who had just landed on the beach. A mass of black scales and glowing red eyes, he bared his dagger-like teeth in greeting.

Dany climbed up his wing, helpfully folded down. When he'd been smaller and she'd first claimed him, she'd still been able to reach his neck like the back of a horse. Then, the skin between the bones of his wings would've been too delicate to tread on, and the saddle had served for comfort more than safety.

That had been years ago. Assuring herself that Daario was following her, copying her every step with obvious uncertainty, she made it to the saddle – which was large enough for two, as it wasn't unusual for her to take someone along. “Sit behind me”, she said, fastening chains around their legs.

“It is hot”, Daario pointed out, and Dany snorted.

“Fire made flesh. Hold on tight. _S_ _ō_ _v_ _ē_ _s._ ”

Dāero flapped his mighty wings, got up on his legs, and took off into the sky. Below them, they could see riders collecting their abandoned horses.

Dany couldn't help herself. _“Dracarys”_ , she commanded, making her dragon shoot black flame into the air, prompting shouts of fear and wonder from below.

Daario was pressed hard behind her while Tyrosh grew ever smaller beneath them. He began to laugh, his chin on her shoulder and his beard tickling her cheek.

She joined in, manic giggles shaking her as she held onto Dāero's spikes.

The distance from Tyrosh to Lys was much shorter than the one from King's Landing to Sunspear, and the larger her dragon grew, the faster he could fly. That thought made her briefly contemplate flying to Dorne instead of Lys, as she thought that Oberyn, Arianne, and the Sand Snakes would greatly appreciate the entire story – though Doran most definitely wouldn't, and it would amount to the same as subjecting herself to Elia's certain wrath.

So Lys it was. It didn't take more than a few hours, though once they reached the island, she took Dāero for a steep dive towards a sellsword camp beyond its walls. She only set the tip of Mero's tent on fire; likely enough to scare him for a lifetime.

Then, she made the dragon land on the balcony outside her chambers in Dagareon's palace – at least with his claws, as his entire body wouldn't fit.

She was greeted by Ser Barristan, and quite glad that it was still dark, so not everyone would've seen her approach. _“Your Grace”_ , the knight said, as close to expressing rage as he was ever allowed to be, “where _were_ you? What have you done? And – with him?” He pointed at Daario as he climbed off the dragon behind her, and Dany made Dāero fly off before the Lyseni could complain that she'd brought him into their city.

“All is well, ser”, she said, pushing past him to get into her bedchamber. “I shall explain on the morrow.”

“You left with nothing but a note speaking of visions”, he said, following her as Daario walked in behind him. “We did not know if you were dead or alive. Queen Elia is -”

“Furious, I am sure.” Dany shrugged off her cloak and pushed Blackfyre into his hands. “Mayhaps this will quell her ire. Please do not ask any questions for now, Ser Barristan, and leave us for the night.”

“Princess.” If she'd been one of her nephews, he might have slapped her, judging by the expression on his face. “That was exactly what you told me before you ran off, and you cannot possibly expect -”

“Ser.” Dany began to undo the fastenings of her leather bodice. “Trust me that you do not wish to witness what I am about to do. In the interest of decency, I must ask you to leave. Contemplate the sword I have given you.”

He stiffly walked off, and she felt bad for him once more. But then the door closed and Daario was upon her, devouring her with his kisses and trying to rip off her clothes.

Dany pushed him onto the bed, straddled him, and grinned down onto his face. “Can you _believe_ all of that worked?”

He laughed. “Not truly. You must have the favour of half a hundred gods.”

“Daenerys.”

Dany clasped her eyes shut. She knew that tone.

She could feel Daario sit up beside her, and blindly struck out a hand to push him back down. “Will you introduce us?”, Elia asked.

There was no avoiding it. She opened her eyes to stare up to the ceiling for a moment before slowly sitting up. The sheet fell down to her waist, but she didn't bother to hide anything.

Elia stood there, unfazed. As so often, she wore a flowing gown of orange silk and golden jewellery, her black curls unbound and not yet streaked with white. She also held a parchment in her hands, and the serene expression on her face told Dany that she wanted to strangle her.

“Daario Naharis, a captain of the Stormcrows”, she explained. “Daario, you are in the presence of Elia of the House Nymeros Martell, a queen of the Seven Kingdoms and my good-sister.”

He cleared his throat, the sheets mercifully covering most of him. “Should I rise to greet the queen?”

“If you do, I will have you gelded.” It was impossible to tell for those who didn't know her, but to Dany, Elia's voice sounded angrier than a shout might have been. “Daenerys, this was not what I meant when I told you to assess the sellsword captains.”

“Well, you should have been more clear about that.” She tried to sit more comfortably.

Elia's eyebrows shot up just a tiny bit. “As I am sure you are aware, this”, she waved towards Daario, “is not the reason I currently wish Rhaegar would send you to Ghaston Grey until you learned that the life of a princess is no game. Where in all seven hells were you?”

Just before she'd left, Dany had written a note explaining that she was following a vision and that they should not assume she had been kidnapped or anything of the like. “Tyrosh”, she replied. “Has Ser Barristan showed you the sword?”

“Of course. There could have been so many other ways -” Elia sighed. “We will speak more on this once your pet is gone. For now, you must read this.”

She handed her the parchment. It had come from Rhaegar, and bore all the news she'd hoped for: Aegon would wed Rhaenys, she and Jaehaerys would follow a few moons later. She was to fly up to the Wall and bring him to King's Landing.

Dany felt herself smile widely, then cast a glance of Daario – well, technically she hadn't known she'd been betrothed until right now, and Jae had had her maidenhead anyway. As if reading her thoughts, Elia walked towards a chest, rummaged through it, and returned with a small vial.

Many women drank moon tea to avoid pregnancy, but Archmaester Marwyn had succeeded in distilling its ingredients into a concentrate. It tasted awful, but was far more convenient.

“Well, Daario Naharis”, she said. “It was a splendid adventure. You will be paid more than the agreed sum for you help.”

Grinning, he sat up and stretched, the sheet falling into his lap. “What payment?”, he asked. “I rode a dragon. That is all I could ever wish for.”

“Captain.” Elia's fury was now even obvious to him. “If you do not take payment, I must assume you were sent by someone else to carry out this task. Take the gold or have your throat cut.”

There'd be an oath of secrecy, too, and one Dany know would be backed up by sorcery.

“That will be five-hundred Lysene ladies, then”, Daario said. “Or the equivalent in any other currency of the Free Cities.” Then he looked at her. “Could I have the necklace as a keepsake, princess?”

“Of course. I will have it brought to Melisandre first to remove the enchantment.”

Elia sighed deeply. “Which necklace? And who is Melisandre?”

_Castle Black, less than a moon later_

Jaeherys' mouth was twitching. “For how long did she lecture you after all that?”

“Most of the day.” Dany poured them the rest of their mulled wine. “And she was right, as well, which I believe is always the most frustrating thing whenever this happens. What I did was stupid and reckless.”

“Any yet, as you said – you are alive, and Blackfyre is here.” He shook his head. “I was not much better, if we are honest. Striking out with four other men initially – Pyp and Grenn purely because I liked them more than the others. I should have asked for a group of experienced rangers; ten Qhorin Halfhands. Grenn would still be alive, then. At least taking Creg is somewhat justified because he adds Ghost to the group.”

“Well, here we are”, she sighed. “Let us hope we will learn from it.”

He drained his cup, the last sip unpleasant from the spices that had sunk to the bottom. “I feel quite drunk”, Jaehaerys confessed. “You should have had food brought in instead of wine.”

“So do I.” She rose, holding on to the table. “Let us lie down and have a nap. _Only_ lie down, that is; I will not have you until you tell that wildling your affair has ended.”

He stared onto the table. A nap did sound good, and even though he knew he should be doing a whole array of other things, he followed her into the bedchamber.

Jaehaerys was in no state to speak to anyone but her, anyway. And now, he could lie down in a place that was warm, dry, soft, clean... and a place that had Dany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please appreciate that I actually looked up Valyrian verb conjugations to work out the proper imperatives for māzigon (to come) and sōvegon (to fly).


	6. The Dragons

_Castle Black, the day after Prince Jaehaerys' return_

Rhovio turned his head away from him.

“I know”, the prince said. “I didn't _want_ to be away for so long.”

The dragon moved his massive emerald body, pushing Dāero out of the way – just to put more distance between himself and Jaehaerys. “Stop sulking.”

Next to him, Dany stifled a laugh. When she held out her hand, her own dragon moved his enormous head in an impossibly gentle way, letting her pet his snout.

He sighed. “ _Kelīs._ Just come here.” The dragon looked at him, then quickly turned back to face the opposite direction. “Dany. Help.”

She shook her head, happily stroking Dāero's scales. “What am I meant to do?”

“You weren't lying!”, came a shout from behind, prompting both dragons to look up. They were by the lair Rhovio had built himself since he'd gone to the Wall, close enough to still see Castle Black.

Dany raised her eyebrows as she saw Ygritte approach. “What would he have lied about?”

The wildling jumped off her horse, which resolutely refused to come any closer. She had to walk the rest of the way, though she herself became ever slower as she looked at their dragons.

“None of the free folk would believe me”, he explained. “That I have a dragon, that is.”

Dany frowned. “Why would you not believe him?”, she asked Ygritte. “Have these news truly not reached your lands? It has been seventeen years.”

A conversation between the two of them was the last thing he wanted. Ygritte crossed her arms, remaining a few steps away. “We've got better things to do than worry about what you're up to in the south.”

The princess looked her over and shot him a confused glance. “I will leave you to it.” Then she climbed onto Dāero's pitch-black back with the ease of practice, strapped herself in, and took off.

The wind left by his wings caused the pieces of bone in the dragon lair to stir. Rhovio impatiently brushed them away.

Ygritte's eyes were wide. “So that one's yours?”

“Aye.” He wasn't sure if he should still offer that promised ride, nor if she wanted it.

“What's he called?” When the dragon slowly turned towards them, she took a step back.

“Rhovio. It means thunder, because he hatched after a storm, and because his roar is very loud.” The same applied to the others, to be fair, but he'd thought this detail remarkable when he'd named him as a young boy.

She eyed him carefully, with his green scales and bronze eyes. “And hers?” Dany was soaring through the sky. The dragon's heat would be keeping her warm even against the sharp northern winds.

“Dāeremiros, the liberator, though we often call him Dāero. She has never quite explained to anyone why.”

Rhovio took a step towards them. Ygritte tensed. “Does everyone in your family have one?”

“Next to us, it is only my sister. Hers is cream and gold, and called Vēzos; the sun. It was our uncle who named him, though.” And here they were. “Ygritte...” He sighed. “I have to leave. Dany came bearing news from my father, who ordered me to return to the capital; far down in the south. My brother and sister will be wed, and I have to be there.”

She nodded. “Will you come back?”

“I don't know”, he confessed. “I mean, yes, but I don't know when. It could be a few days after; travel on dragonback is quick enough. Or after a few moons, or a year. It depends on what my father says.”

Ygritte didn't comment on his kneeler ways of doing what his king commanded. She didn't ask why his presence mattered so much, perhaps having accepted that their ways were vastly different, or having begun to understand what his status meant. She didn't ask why he'd have to remain down south, either.

“I like you well, Jon”, she said instead of all that. “And you'll always be Jon to me, no matter what your real fancy name is. But you never stole me and I'm a free woman, so don't think I'll wait for you.”

He turned to watch Rhovio and exhaled his breath. “I like you too”, he said. “And that's why I wouldn't expect anything of the sort.”

The prince briefly glanced at her face, deciding she only looked a little bit sad. “I'll miss that thing you do with your tongue.”

Jaehaerys laughed. “Teach it to your next lover. I'm sure you'll find someone, as a spearwife kissed by fire.”

“Easily. And you'll have all the perfumed girls in their silks.” Well, one in particular.

Just like the first time he'd had Ygritte, this whole conversation had gone far easier than he'd expected. He found himself deeply appreciating her.

“So”, she asked after a moment of amiable silence, “who're they marrying? Your brother and sister.”

Oh. This probably wouldn't go over too well. “Each other.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “That wasn't very funny.”

“It wasn't a joke.” Under her incredulous gaze, he explained: “My family has been wedding brother and sister for hundreds of years. It is a custom brought from old Valyria -”

“It's _cursed_ ”, she said. “You follow my gods, Jon. I've seen you pray by the heart tree; I've seen you cast runes like one of the wise women. You _know_ this offends the gods, and brings weak children, sometimes monsters -”

Jaehaerys pointed up to the sky, surprised at how angry he suddenly was. Dany was clearly enjoying her ride. “Does she seem weak to you? Or like a monster? Disfigured, perhaps? Her parents; my grandparents, were brother and sister. Their parents before them, too. All children of their union are perfectly fine.”

Well, not quite. Viserys had his difficult moments at times, but he'd been through a lot as a child.

Ygritte, however, had recoiled at his words. “And you?”, she asked. “Are you about to tell me your father fucked his sister -”

His look must have been so furious it shut her up. He took a deep breath. “My parents actually aren't related at all, and among the highborn, that's an accomplishment”, Jaehaerys explained, forcing himself to be calm. “I assume you'll approve. However, I won't hear any further comments disparaging my royal father's birth, nor my siblings' union.”

“ _I won't hear any further comments”_ , she imitated him. “Don't even know the word you said after that. Didn't take you long to start talking like a kneeler princeling.”

He had to close his eyes for a heartbeat. “You know, I always think it's strange when you call me a kneeler. My family are the ones everyone else kneels to, not the other way around.” Jaehaerys looked to his dragon, who finally obeyed and began to come to him.

Ygritte was too angry to be afraid. “As if you didn't kneel for your father. Or your brother once he's king, next to his wife and _sister._ So who will he have you wed? Got any other sisters?”

“No”, he said, looking up. “But an aunt. It's already been decided.” He didn't wait for her reply, but climbed up Rhovio's wing. That ride was certainly called off.

As soon as he'd made it to the skies, Dany and Dāero began to change course, and he followed. They flew along the Wall towards the east, seeing half of its nineteen castles. When they'd been born, only three had been in use, though all had been restored since then, manned by the thousands of black brothers who'd joined the order ever since. Some had been forced to, others convinced.

They finally reached the Bridge of Skulls, though Jaehaerys knew the dragons couldn't cross it. So did Dany, landing by the sharp cliff that was the Gorge. They could see Westwatch-by-the-Bridge from where they were.

“I like the view from here”, she said, pointing down into the frozen, rocky chasm. “It has a certain savage beauty.”

“One could say that.” They'd dismounted and were both leaning against Dāero for warmth. “I'd missed flying. Nothing like it.” It had calmed him.

“I can imagine.” Dany looked at him, then took his gloved hand in her own. “So how did it go?”

He wanted to punch himself. “Very well, in truth. And then, the incest came up, and she was repulsed. I was offended. From that came pettiness.”

“Oh, well.” Dany ran a hand along his jaw. “She is lucky only you were there. I do not know what she said, but I could imagine Rhae would have cursed her afterwards.”

Certainly, especially as Ygritte had implied his siblings were cursed. “And Aegon would've argued her to death”, he said, grinning as he imagined how strange that encounter would have been, and how confusing for both sides.

He put his arm around Dany, pulling her closer as they watched the bleak yet impressive landscape before them. “We should leave soon”, she said. “Take all our things and fly. Spend a night in some castle on the way.”

“We need to find the Starks. Most of them should be on their way south for the wedding. I need to speak to Brandon, as Bloodraven told me to.”

She sighed, leaning her head against his chest. “I hope Alarra is with them, then, and not in King's Landing already. Let Sansa divide her attentions, provided she did not remain at Winterfell.”

Jaehaerys tried to imagine Sansa being told to stay in the North instead of _finally_ being taken down to the capital, and thought that Uncle Bran would never have had the strength to withstand her pleas.

_The inn at the crossroads, the next day_

One always made a grand entrance when landing a dragon.

By the time they touched the ground, they'd already been spotted from afar. People were streaming out of the inn to see them, and one little girl had already climbed up Rhovio's back while Jaehaerys was still unfastening his chains. He wasn't even sure how she'd managed so quickly.

“Let's fly!”, she demanded, trying to squeeze herself into the saddle before him. Her dress was torn and her face dirty, and a leaf was stuck in her hair. The prince took that to mean that Lady Catelyn had remained at Winterfell.

“Arya”, he sighed, smiling. “I've only just arrived. Let me catch my breath, and let Rhovio eat.”

She pouted, turning around in the saddle. “Did you see Creg?”

“Of course I saw Creg. He's well.” He undid the last of his chains and picked her up with a grunt. As children were wont to do, Arya got heavier by the year, even if she was a skinny little thing. The squirming didn't help.

Some of the other Starks had left the building by now, greeting Dany. Uncle Bran, broad-shouldered and tall, grinned when he saw him carrying Arya. Next to him stood his heir, Torrhen; less than a year younger than Dany and Jaehaerys. He took after his Tully mother, as did Sansa, who was horrified when she spied her little sister. Now twelve, even the gangly awkwardness of that age didn't hide that she was very pretty.

Jaehaerys dropped Arya before her father, who promptly pulled him into one of his forceful hugs. The prince was just about able to take a peak over his shoulder. Many men and banners around them bore the classic grey direwolf on white, though a variation could be seen as well, featuring the same wolf before a black tree.

He hadn't even needed to look this closely, because all four members of House Stark of Ironwood Hall were approaching. There was Uncle Ned, who'd been given lands in the wolfswood by his brother shortly after his marriage. By now, he ruled a keep there, even if it was a far cry from the enormity of Winterfell.

With him were his wife, the Lady Ashara, as well as their daughter Alarra and his heir Edric. Both Dany and Jaehaerys knew them better than the Winterfell Starks, since Lord Eddard's role as legate between King's Landing and the North had led to them spending half their lives at court.

It looked like only Lady Catelyn had remained at home, together with the young Bran and even younger Rickon. The thought of his father's quiet exasperation at having to host so many of his good-kin made Jaehaerys smirk.

“Why did you need to speak to my lord father, Your Grace?”, Torrhen Stark asked him after he'd had the conversation with Uncle Bran, pointing out that the gods' demands couldn't be ignored, and Bran the younger would have to undertake the journey.

The prince took a moment to consider his answer. They were sitting on the porch, watching the smallfolk go about their tasks – himself, Torrhen, Dany, and Alarra. “It is a long story. Perhaps he'll tell you.”

Alarra smiled in that perpetually amused way she had, sucking honey left by a cake off her fingers. “There is no need to be so cryptic, sweet prince. If you just told us directly, we could save a good amount of time we would otherwise spend finding it out behind your back.”

“ _Sweet prince”_ , Dany repeated. “You should be careful, my lady. My dear nephew is a man betrothed.” She didn't sound reproachful in the slightest.

“Ah, but can you blame me?” Alarra winked at him, prompting Jaehaerys to laugh. He was only glad Creg wasn't here, who'd been incurably in love with her for as long as he could remember. At least the bastard among his cousins had had the sense to recognise that it was hopeless.

Torrhen looked at her with raised eyebrows. “You have spent too much time down south, cousin. What if your lord father heard you speak like this?”

In response, she reached forward to tuck a lock of auburn hair behind his ear. He didn't flinch away. “Please spare me your hypocrisy.”

“I am merely saying”, the heir to Winterfell elaborated, “that if I saw or heard one of my sisters act the way you do -”

“You would be outraged, to be sure.” Alarra leaned back, a glint in her violet eyes. “As would I, considering their age. But if it is I who does it, you enjoy it, and there is no use pretending otherwise.”

Jaehaerys bit his lip, trying not to snort. Dany was in a similar state.

There was a certain possibility that Torrhen and Alarra would wed; strengthening the ties between both branches of House Stark. He hoped that they wouldn't, purely under consideration of Creg's feelings. Anyone would be better than his trueborn older brother – besides, Edric and Sansa were always an option, too.

They could see the younger ones enter the courtyard – Arya running, talking about something with much excitement, while Sansa and Edric walked towards them at a much more measured pace. Lady and Nymeria were playing with Grey Wind. Behind, a tall woman with greying brown hair was making for the stables. “Not to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are”, the prince said, still attempting not to laugh, “but it certainly _looks_ like Lady Barbrey is here.”

“Oh, you took note?” Torrhen cast an annoyed glance towards the blacksmiths', where Brandon and Eddard Stark were conversing. “How is Creg, anyway? He hasn't replied to the last raven I sent.”

“He's spent much time beyond the Wall, but you should not worry. He came back in one piece.”

Dany didn't let him change the subject. “Does your lady mother know about the Lady Barbrey's presence here?”

“I would assume so. She barely spoke to my father during the week before our departure.”

Barbrey Ryswell had never wed, but had instead become Brandon Stark's mistress, giving him a son in Cregan and leading to him spending much time in her father's castle in the Rills – Lady Catelyn would not suffer her presence at Winterfell. It had turned out better for Barbrey than many had expected, as Brandon never seemed to tire of her.

With Creg having been raised in both castles, the entire situation was rather complicated for all involved. Jaehaerys' mother suspected that Lady Barbrey had bewitched her brother. “Will you follow your lord father's example, Torrhen?”, Alarra asked. “Take a mistress once you are wed?”

He looked her over. “That depends on who I'll wed.”

While the prince found that entire line of conversation entertaining, it wasn't to last. Arya had begun to play with the peasant children, but Sansa and Edric had just reached them. She curtseyed even though they'd already greeted each other. “Will you be travelling south with us, Your Graces?”

“What, on horseback? In a wheelhouse?” He shook his head. “Positively barbaric.”

Sansa flushed. “His Grace jests”, Edric explained helpfully.

“He does”, Dany confirmed, “but it is true that we will undertake the journey by ourselves. We will remain here tonight to rest and let our dragons eat, and then fly to King's Landing on the morrow.”

The innkeeper hadn't been thrilled at just how much livestock Rhovio and Dāero demanded, but the amount of gold on offer had placated her. “I cannot wait to see the Red Keep”, Sansa sighed. “It is said that the feasts attract the greatest artists in the known world, and often last the entire night.”

“Some of the feasts do go on for a while”, Alarra confirmed, smirking at Torrhen. “Especially if hosted by Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Alas, my lady, I suspect you are too young for those.”


	7. The King

_King's Landing, a week and a half before the royal wedding_

They landed atop the serpentine steps. Despite the fact that the inhabitants of the Red Keep were accustomed to the sight of dragons, this still caused a stir.

Dany could feel that Dāero and Rhovio were restless; eager to get away – which wasn't a surprise, as they'd been greeted by Vēzos, though without his rider, who was now circling above and waiting for them, golden scales glistening in the sunlight.

There was someone to welcome them, too. Viserys stood waiting, dressed in black damask and scarlet silk, next to Ser Jaime with his golden curls and white cloak.

“Brother!” She quickly strode towards him, relieved as she saw him smile. He held her close, ran a hand through her hair, and whispered her name.

Then, he stiffened and pulled away, giving a curt nod. “Jaehaerys.”

“Uncle.” Jae's expression was guarded after the cool reception, and Dany suppressed a sigh. “My royal father is waiting, I take it?”

“In his solar, Your Grace”, Ser Jaime said. “I will accompany you.”

“Does he think we might get lost?”, Dany asked, and the knight tilted his head.

“He thinks you might run off. The prince and princess are about to feast all the young lords and ladies of the realm in the gardens.”

That did sound much better than the royal dressing-down she was sure to receive, but they'd have to join later. Jae walked in front with Ser Jaime, giving Dany an opportunity to stay a few paces behind. “How are you?”, she asked Viserys while they descended the steps.

“Well enough, considering the circumstances.” He was starring daggers into their nephew's back.

She could already guess what this was about. “And the circumstances are... ?”

He stopped, putting his hand on her shoulder to turn her to him. “Your betrothal”, Viserys said, eyes burning. “I should be the one to wed you.”

At least he was making it plain. “You are wed”, she said, which of course wasn't the best of arguments.

“That did not stop Rhaegar, did it? And he already had a daughter then, as well as a son coming. Near seven years of marriage, and how many healthy children has my wife given me?”

None, of course. Dany had seen Lysa with child many times, but this had never amounted to anything but miscarriages and stillbirths. “Rhaegar will have had his reasons for this decision”, she said calmly.

“Oh, he does. He has listed them to me at length.” The other two had stopped several steps below, questioningly looking up to them.

He wouldn't like this, but: “You know our parents had these issues, too. Perhaps it is not Lysa's fault. Her sister does have five children.”

Viserys shook his head, grinning in a terribly triumphant way. “That is what everyone would think, I know. It has to be the fault of King Aerys' son, and not his surely fertile Tully bride. _Except_ ”, he leaned over to her, “that she confessed to me, after she had lost our third, that she did not come to me a maid at all. That she'd been with child once before, curtesy of her father's ward; some minor Vale lord – and that our good and honourable Hoster made her drink moon tea that almost killed her before sending her down to be my betrothed as if nothing had happened.”

Dany stared at him. “Did you tell Rhaegar?”

“Of course. At least he understood my anger, but he does not want to go against Lord Tully for now.”

That was interesting, but ultimately didn't mean much to anything but her brother's pride. Especially as none of his affairs had ever resulted in a bastard, which did put his own fertility into question. “For now”, she echoed, hoping to put this to rest. “This does not change the fact that we cannot wed – and besides, I am no maid either, so you would be in for a disappointment.”

“I know”, he said with a nasty sneer. “From what I gathered, you let yourself be fucked by most of Essos -”

“ _Viserys.”_ Dany crossed her arms and glared up at him, prompting him to briefly close his eyes.

“Forgive me.”

He could be a terrible person at times. “Vulgarity does not become you.”

Viserys snorted, taking the next step down. “Now you sound like Rhaegar. I hope you are ready for him, because I understand that he has practiced the lecture awaiting you for weeks.”

The Red Keep was splendid, though much of its grandeur was constrained to strategically chosen locations. Anyone who descended the serpentine steps into the lower courtyard could admire how the path to Maegor's and other important buildings had been paved with black, red, and white marble creating beautiful (and, unbeknownst to most, arcane) patterns. The drawbridge to the Holdfast had been replaced a few years ago; ironwood from up north that was engraved on both sides, held together with regularly polished steel. Those who entered could marvel at the whitewashed walls painted with intricate murals leading to the Queen's Ballroom, the decorations continuing as they made their way up to the royal apartments on a staircase with a delicately carved railing.

Of course, none of the royal family lived in anything but luxury – but things got somewhat less ostentatious in their private chambers. This did not apply to the king's solar, where Rhaegar would also receive non-family guests if he wanted them to feel special.

The king wasn't sitting behind his desk; a great nightwood piece inlaid with silver and dragonglass. They had to look to the other side of the room, past Myrish carpets and rich tapestries, to where he occupied an armchair as if it was the Iron Throne.

None of the Lysene magisters could ever hope to look as imposing as Rhaegar, Dany thought. Whenever he so chose, he could take his Valyrian beauty and turn it into something deeply disconcerting. Was it the way he sat perfectly straight, yet somehow relaxed? The _utterly_ unimpressed expression on his face, the coldness in his eyes? Was it the scar on his neck; angry and purple from when their father had tried to have him murdered with a poisoned blade before she'd been born?

He was even wearing his crown, which was not a good sign at all.

So where the queens. Elia was to his right, lounging on one couch. All the gold and flowing hair and silk on her should have made her look warm and inviting, yet didn't. On Rhaegar's left, Lyanna had moved when they'd come in, but his hand had touched her arm and kept her from greeting Jae. Clad in brilliant white and silver, there was something in her eyes that invoked the snarling direwolves on her necklace.

Viserys and Ser Jaime hadn't entered. After the door shut behind them, there was a brief silence.

Then, Rhaegar held out his right hand. Dany caught Jae's eyes, knowing they were both thinking the same: Gods, they were in _trouble_.

She wanted to ask if he was serious, but couldn't bring the words to leave her mouth. All she could do was walk towards him and begin to bend down, but he slightly withdrew his hand and pointedly looked to the floor.

Even worse. Dany went to one knee before being permitted to take his hand and kiss his ring, and Jae had to do the same.

Then they both stood there, anxious under the king's gaze. He let them wait for what felt like a long time.

“What is the value of a life?”, he finally asked, every word annunciated with perfect, cold precision.

 _Oh, gods above_ , she almost replied. This would be the philosophical kind of sermon.

Neither of them answered. “Nothing?”, Rhaegar asked after a while. “Truly? One would think the two of you would have considered this.”

Jae cleared his throat, and was immediately silenced by his father's glare. “There are several answers, of course”, the king continued. “Some would argue that every life holds intrinsic value, and that death is the great equaliser. That every human life is worth the same. Others would point to the fact that the lives and deaths of rulers affect a far greater number of people than those of, for instance, peasants. Then again, what are rulers without their peasants?”

Dany kept her eyes on the carpet. “I invite the two of you to consider the second perspective. Some specific lives, if lost, could destabilise entire realms. Such is the way of the world. If Aegon dropped dead this instant, we would have a terrible mess on our hands, would we not?”

A succession crisis, yes, unless they quickly wed Rhaenys to Jae. “I had thought that you could both imagine the consequences of any of our House dying at any moment. Some greater, some smaller. All significant, in the grand scheme of things. Would Viserys' death be a serious blow to our dynasty?”

She briefly dared to meet his eyes, but couldn't bear it for long. “Perhaps not directly”, the king answered his own question. “But it would upset and affect the rest of us, and that would have its own repercussions. I said that I _thought_ you could both imagine the consequences, but clearly, you cannot – else you would not have put yourselves into such terrible, foolish, _thoughtless_ danger.”

There was emotion in his voice at the end, which made it even worse. As so often, she wasn't entirely sure if he was truly upset or if this was merely a very good act. “Jaehaerys. Your uncle Benjen tells me that you travelled beyond the Wall with three unexperienced black brothers, one direwolf, and _one_ seasoned ranger. Those were the companions you chose when journeying into a territory that is largely unmapped, that you had barely ever been to before, and that you knew to harbour not only wildlings but also the Others and their servants.” When one put it this way, it did sound idiotic. “I know you love Cregan, though I will only allow that his presence was justified through that wolf of his. But would you care to explain the rest? Lord Commander Mormont offered you the most experienced men in the Watch. Benjen asked multiple times to accompany you. And in response, you reminded everyone that I had ordered Mormont to fully cooperate with any and all of your requests. Can you explain to me at all why that was not a mistake; a sign of misplaced faith in your abilities and maturity?”

Dany almost wanted to take Jae's hand at that, though she could imagine that he wouldn't want to be touched. “I wanted no interference”, he said after a moment, voice shaking just slightly.

“You should have wanted _protection_. Are you immortal? Do you not bleed when you are cut; do you not starve without food? Do you believe that if you died beyond the Wall, the Others would not bring you back with blue eyes and black hands; turning a prince of the realm into just one of their countless slaves? Perhaps you would have been set against us when the time came. Your mindless body jumping Daenerys, Aegon, Rhaenys, myself – and we would have been unable to harm one who looked like you. Did you consider that?”

As much as she wanted to know what Jae looked like now, Dany knew that he wouldn't want her to. “No, Father”, he said, sounding choked.

Rhaegar went on, merciless. “Two of your chosen companions did not return. Do you not believe that this could have been avoided?”

The prince took a loud, shaky breath. “Yes, Father. Their deaths were my fault. I know that. I understand it. I take responsibility for it.”

There was another silence, and then her brother said: “Daenerys.”

She tried to steel herself. “You ran off with a sellsword you had no reason to trust. This did not only leave Elia and the rest of us fearing for your life, but also forced her to somehow justify your absence. The magisters were suspicious, especially under consideration of the war likely to erupt in the Disputed Lands.” She swallowed. This was only the beginning. “You ran off with a sellsword you did not know”, he said again, “enchanted by a sorceress you had barely met. And then, you went straight to the _Golden Company_. With a man who, for all you knew, could have been working for them all along. Under a glamour they could have easily spotted, had you been unlucky and they had had the wrong person in the camp. You went there pretending to be a noblewoman from Lys when merely asking around could have told you that their spymaster was a Lyseni.” She was very glad she hadn't told Elia all of the details.

“I cannot even begin to list all the things that could have gone wrong, though they start with the necklace coming undone. And then, what do you believe would have happened? What would the Golden Company; ten thousand men whose culture is defined by their hatred of our House, have done with you? There are no more Blackfyres they could have wed you to, as at least the male line is extinct. You are presently the last in the line of succession; not nearly enough to use you as a figurehead for any sort of invasion. They do not lack for coin they could have gained through your ransom.” She had just assumed that she would have remained a highborn hostage with the associated privileges until the sellswords came to some sort of agreement with the Iron Throne. “What do thousands of men do with one woman who represents those they hate, Daenerys, if there is nothing material to be gained from her? I assume you mistook the Golden Company's famed discipline for a strong sense of honour. Had you been caught, you would have learned just how wrong you were in this assessment. All that would have awaited you were violence and degradation, which undoubtedly would have led to all the rest of us stepping in. Thus, diverting resources from the one war we know we _must_ fight.”

She carefully unclenched her teeth. “Dāero was nearby the entire time.”

“Yes”, he admitted, “perhaps you could have escaped. Perhaps the world would have seen that even a dragon is not enough against ten thousand highly trained soldiers. Perhaps we would have got you out alive; perhaps not. In either case, it was all utterly unnecessary.”

“ _Un-”_ , Jae began, and then she could finally look at him because he was now angrily shaking his head. “Dany got Blackfyre, Father. Blackfyre.”

“And there could have been so many other ways to do this”, the king replied, looking at her. “You could have spoken to Elia. You could have found a way together that would have kept you out of danger. This is the problem with both of you: a reckless disregard for your own lives, or perhaps a lack of awareness when it comes to your own vulnerability. But both of you were born amidst salt and smoke beneath a bleeding star. Both of you could, and I believe _will_ , be instrumental in the war for the dawn. To endanger yourselves in such a way could not only hurt yourselves and our House, but ultimately the entire realm, if not the world.”

They were quiet for another moment. “Jae”, she said then, “spoke to Bloodraven. He brought back Dark Sister.” Rhaegar shouldn't have known that yet.

And he hadn't, if the very slight crack in his façade was anything to go by. “That is, of course, a good thing”, the king relented. “Yet – would that have been rendered impossible if you had been accompanied by more experienced members of the Watch?”

“No”, Jae had to say. “But we are both alive, and we brought the swords. What more do you want?”

“For the both of you to be safe.” She could tell he meant it. More than anything, that really made her feel guilty. “Next to all the other reasons I gave, I – as a father and a brother – could not bear to see you harmed.”

“Neither could we”, Lyanna added, with Elia humming her agreement. Jae winced.

Dany's gaze returned to the floor. “I am sorry”, she said, which wasn't easy.

“So am I”, her nephew added. Another tense moment of silence passed.

Then, Rhaegar sighed. “Enough of this”, he announced. “It is good to have you both back.” His expression became much more human, and she felt herself relax. It was over.

Now, they could finally all greet each other. She felt much better after all the hugs and kisses, and giddy after Lyanna's whispered confession that she was quite jealous of her adventure.

“Well.” Rhaegar had fallen back into his chair, but was smiling now, and had removed his crown. “I wish to know _everything_ about Bloodraven, and we must discuss that red priestess as well. She is fascinating, though also a complete fanatic. But”, the king sighed, “I understand that there is a feast waiting for you. You should not keep the Prince of Dragonstone and the Princess of Summerhall waiting.”

It was a lovely summer evening. They had both changed – after several weeks at the Wall, Dany relished the opportunity to don fine Dornish silks, choosing a near-translucent gown in the colour of her eyes and amethyst-adorned jewellery. She just about resisted the temptation to slip into Jae's rooms and let the gown slide off her. The night was still young, meaning that they would have plenty of opportunity to get reacquainted in that way.

The feast, they learned, was taking place in Rhaenys' gardens. Most of the area was beautiful; filled with rare flowers producing the most exquisite scents, and would have impressed even a Lysene noble. There was a section inaccessible to most that contained a wholly different sort of plant, usually of a poisonous or plainly magical nature, but they wouldn't visit it today.

Aegon had chosen a spot overlooking the bay. The first signs of the festivities were noticeable from far away – there was the music, of course, and the lights. The splendid cloth-of-silver canopy giving shelter in the unlikely event of rain. A couple moaning in the bushes close to the path.

Outside the canopy, exceedingly comely and well-dressed highborn youths were dancing to a merry tune. Under it, they were either standing or sitting, sometimes lying on couches upholstered in shimmering satins, drinking fine wines (dry and Dornish, as was the fashion) out of crystal glasses, exchanging japes and gossip over bites of often exotic foods.

Viserys was there, not one but two young ladies in his lap. Loras Tyrell was speaking to Renly Baratheon, blushing under his smouldering gaze as both men were _this_ close to dropping their acts and dragging each other into a dark corner. Alyn Connington was ostensibly listening to Alyssa Arryn, but clearly much more interested in seeing how far he could bring his hand up her thigh before she told him to stop (from the look on her face, Dany thought this rebuke might never come). Tyrion Lannister was telling an obviously hilarious story to Aurane Waters, Margaery Tyrell – not stuck to Aegon, for once – and Sarella Sand. The latter's half-sister Tyene managed to affect an air of innocence even in this environment, deftly using it to utterly fascinate Brynden Blackwood. Everyone took note of their arrival, though all reserved their greetings, knowing that family would come first.

Two largely decorative knights of the Kingsguard behind him, Aegon was sitting on an expansive chaiselounge on a slightly raised platform, his regal posture not dissimilar to his father's when they'd arrived. He was dressed in black linen and an onyx-studded circlet; a younger and less pale copy of the king's – although Rhaegar would never be seen in public in this position. Rhaenys, clad in vermillion, was stretched out with her head on Aegon's lap, his fingers languidly stroking her hair while his other hand held a glass. Her old black tomcat was lying at her feet.

Seven Above, she'd missed them. “Sorry”, Rhae said once they were close enough, her eyes half closed. “I am not getting up, and neither is”, she flashed them a lazy smile, “my _betrothed._ ”

“Congratulations.” Jae crossed his arms. “Despite this rather disappointing welcome.”

Aegon smirked, nodding to a servant to arrange seating. “To you too. I would rise, but...”, he gestured to Rhae's head, “it appears I lack permission. But I am glad to see you two – beautiful as you both look, and in one piece as well.”

A couch was moved in front of theirs, and wine poured. “I prefer this greeting to Rhaegar's”, Dany said while she sat, prompting Rhaenys to raise her eyebrows.

“You deserved it.”

Jae groaned. “Not you too.”

Then he was about to take a sip, and stopped by his brother's raised hand. “Drink if you like, but be aware that this is no ordinary wine. This one dulls the senses and suppresses inhibition to a much stronger extent.” He nodded to the feast. “A few of our guests have had quite a lot.”

“And how much have you had?” Dany asked, suspecting the answer. Rhae rolled to her side to face them. “A small sip each.”

Bright laughter sounded behind them, where Margaery Tyrell stumbled into Aurane Water's arms. “Almost as handsome”, Jae commented, “and yet _much_ less highborn than you, brother. Did she give up on you after the betrothal was announced?”

Rhae gave a dark chuckle, and Aegon ran his hand across her cheek with a pleased expression. “Not quite, but soon after”, he said.

That was cryptic. Dany was sure that there was a rather salacious story behind this. “You will want to hear all the details of what we have done”, she stated, prompting nods. “But first, as I suspect this to be a very happy story – how did you both learn of your betrothal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who didn't read the prequel may wonder why Viserys is married to Lysa Tully. It's because in the prequel, Rhaegar+Elia convince the lords to make him Aerys' regent during the tourney at Harrenhal, for which they all got various concessions. This was one of Hoster Tully's. It's also why Jon Arryn is Rhaegar's Hand. 
> 
> About some of the young lords and ladies mentioned here:  
> Jon Arryn's original heir, his nephew Elbert, is killed on Aerys' orders in canon. This didn't happen in the prequel to this, so Jon Arryn didn't need to marry again. Alyssa as well as and her not yet (and perhaps never) mentioned younger brothers Jasper and Ronnel are Elbert's children (by Jessamyn Grafton; a non-canon character from a canon Vale House).  
> Alyn Connington is Jon Connington's older son, the younger being called Roy. Their mother is Lydia Morrigen, who is also made up but the Morrigens are canonically the Conningtons' neighbouring House. As is briefly discussed towards the end of the prequel, JonCon isn't exactly eager to marry but understands it must be done, so I decided to be merciful and give him two sons so he didn't need to bother with this whole “sex with women” thing after that.  
> The Velaryons' family tree is unchanged, but since they are still in their usual good standing with House Targaryen and Monford is master of ships, I think it would make sense for even his bastard half-brother to hang out at court sometimes (his son, Monterys, is very young). Being good-looking is a great way to get invited to Aegon's parties, anyway.  
> Tytos Blackwood is master of laws, and so his older sons Brynden, Lucas, and Hoster aren't strangers to the Red Keep.


	8. The Heirs

_Summerhall, the 5 th moon of the year 299 AC_

At the height of her pleasure, Rhaenys visualised the sigil.

There it was, glowing in flames on the ceiling of the former ballroom. She cried out, thighs clasping together and hands fruitlessly trying to claw at the dragonglass altar, a wave of relief leaving her body and pushing her intent out into the world. Something felt as if it was shaking, and it couldn't just be her legs.

The princess needed a moment to catch her breath. Sarella's head poked out from between her thighs as she wiped her mouth. “Did it work?”

She feebly raised a hand. “Need time”, Rhaenys gasped. “Exhausted.”

“From my tongue or the magic?”

The magic, she wanted to answer, but couldn't. A familiar heaviness came over her and she welcomed it, slipping into a dream-like state that allowed her to investigate -

Rhaenys couldn't leave her body, not even in her mind, but she could _see_ her surroundings. Summerhall, a place of life and death, parts of it rebuilt first under her father's direction and then her own. The core of the building around the ballroom designed to fit very exact requirements, positioning it in a certain way in relation to the stars above and the earth below. Carefully chosen materials and measurements, spells woven into the walls. An experimental wall of black stone in the former gardens, where she'd been trying to replicate the Valyrians' building techniques with the help of Vēzos' flame.

And now, a few moments old, much more order on the higher plane. It had been a confusing mess of a place before, echoes of fear and pain lingering and interrupting her works, traces of untamed and destructive fire getting in the way of keeping a clear head. It was all still there, useful as it could be, but it was more orderly. Pushed into a corner, in a way.

So it had worked. She began regaining access to physicality to tell Sarella just that when a voice came to her – _Rhaenys_ , it called. _Rhaenys. Rhaenys, come, I know you are nearby._

Sarella was shaking her and she understood where the voice came from, eyes flying wide open. The princess muttered a curse as she scrambled off the altar, smoothed down her skirts, and hurried towards the glass candle. Its glow was even more intense than usual.

“Father!”, she said when she reached it, crouching before the table the candle stood on because she didn't have a chair. By all the gods, she hoped he hadn't seen what she'd been doing before. “What is it?”

Through the flame, she could vaguely see the king in Archmaester Marwyn's study. As always, the glass candle made the scar on his neck look as purple as his eyes. She could see his lips move, but his voice still somehow sounded disembodied. _There you are. How is the wall coming along?_

“Well.” Something nudged her hips, and she rose as Sarella pushed a chair under her. “I am getting much better at shaping it, though I think you could be right that the Valyrians used human sacrifice, so our possibilities may be limited.”

_I can see that. You will need to put your studies on hold, however. Return to the capital; we have things to discuss. Oberyn will pass by Summerhall in a few days to take Sarella and your belongings._

Rhaenys felt something soft moving between her feet and heard a whining meow, so she picked up Balerion. Despite their best efforts, he kept finding a way into the ballroom. “Should I bring him?”, she asked, snuggling the cat against her cheek.

_If you wish. You will be gone for a while._

“As you say, Father. I will be there this afternoon.”

The king smiled. _It will be good to see you in person again._

The light of the glass candle dimmed slightly as the image faded. “Did you hear that?”, she asked Sarella.

“Of course.” Her cousin grinned, sitting on the table and stretching out her legs. “Several _days_ alone at Summerhall. Whatever shall I do? Uncover mysteries you never even considered?”

Rhaenys stood and deposited Balerion in her lap. “Take care of my cat and try not to break anything. I will see both of you in the Red Keep soon enough.”

Sarella hummed, stroking Balerion. “Your father called you back, mine is coming to collect me on the way... It makes one wonder what His Grace has to discuss.” The tomcat purred. “A wedding, perhaps?”

“Hopefully.” Rhaenys made for the door. She'd need to put on leather breeches to ride Vēzos comfortably. “Unless it is the wrong couple being married. Imagine if I got back only for my royal father to tell me Aegon will wed Margaery Tyrell.”

“If it is any kind of royal wedding, I am sure my sisters will be there too. We could take care of that problem for you.”

Rhaenys laughed, though she knew that Sarella had meant it. If her father had any sense – and he did – then there would be no need for setting the Sand Snakes upon Margaery.

_King's Landing, that same afternoon_

Aegon was pleased, but surprised when he managed to bring his sword against Loras' throat.

He looked at his friend in confusion. The prince was very good – many years of training with Ser Arthur would do that to anyone – but not _as_ good as Loras Tyrell; the only other squire he'd never beaten until now.

Then, he followed Loras' eyes, and the world made sense again. “You let yourself be distracted”, Renly Baratheon admonished his squire. “You must focus on your opponent, and no one else.”

Loras cleared his throat, giving Aegon an annoyed look as he moved the training sword away. “You said I had to be aware of my surroundings, ser.”

“Aware, yes”, Renly said. “Not blinded by them.”

Loras' cheeks were red, and not only from the fight. Aegon was about to look for Ser Arthur when he saw a surprised expression on Renly's face. “Princess”, he said with a bow.

Aegon darted around, hopeful, and found his wish fulfilled. Rhaenys. Her long black hair in a braid and clad in leather, she'd clearly come on Vēzos, though he had no idea how he hadn't noticed her approach. She wore a cocky smile, leaning on one hip and a practice sword. “Ser Renly”, she said in greeting. “My lord of Tyrell. _Brother_.”

“Rhae”, he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, and all but ran towards her. This was interrupted by the blunt tip of her sword digging into his gambeson.

“Fight me”, she demanded, keeping him at a distance.

“Rhae”, he said again, shaking his head. He still couldn't believe she'd appeared so suddenly. “That is not fair. You know I cannot strike you.” She, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

His sister shrugged. “You should at least try. I have not had anyone to spar with since Dany left. Sarella only uses that bow, and all the men are too afraid of hurting their delicate little princess.”

She did _look_ delicate, to be fair. Any man who'd strike her had to be a monster.

Aegon was about to say something, but then she pushed him away with the sword, making him stumble backwards, and aimed for his shoulder. He evaded the blow, she stabbed at his belly, he parried.

The best he could do was try to disarm her. After a few more exchanges, Aegon surged forward, keeping her blade under the control of his own and planning to twist it out of her hand with the pommel of his – but then he was suddenly right in front of her and looked into her eyes.

Rhaenys smiled, then hooked her leg around his and pulled his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He supposed he was in no position to make fun of Loras for having been distracted. “Not fair”, he repeated, scrambling to his knees so he could take her hand and kiss the impossibly soft skin. “Still, it is good to see you.”

She pulled him up to his feet, and then into an embrace. “You too”, she said, smelling like leather, dragon, and magic. “Any idea as to what Father might want? He told me to come back this morning.”

Aegon reluctantly pulled away. “Well, I wrote another of my essays on different aspects of our predecessors' rules that he should have read by now.”

“And you believe he would have called me to the Red Keep to listen to you two discuss history?” She waved at Loras and Ser Renly as they started their way to Maegor's.

Aegon grinned at her. “The essay was about marriage; examining the impact of spouses chosen from both within and outside our House. In the conclusion, I argued that after he took not one but two non-Targaryen brides and wed Viserys to Lysa, it is now necessary to reaffirm our special status by having the four of us marry each other.”

Rhaenys smiled back. “And you believe he found your argument persuasive?”

“My arguments are always persuasive.” Though the king could be difficult to debate. “I trust Mother and Lyanna to ensure that he will not misunderstand this and have you wed Jae while I marry Dany.”

She shrugged. “In that case, we could easily come to an arrangement.”

They'd assumed their father awaited them in his solar, but once they reached Maegor's, they learned from their uncle Lewyn that he was, in fact, at a small council meeting. Ser Oswell and Ser Adrian stood guard outside the chamber, bidding them to wait.

It didn't take long. Stannis Baratheon was out first, followed by Mace Tyrell, Monford Velaryon, Tytos Blackwood, Grand Maester Agrivane, Archmaester Marwyn, then old Lord Arryn. The similarly old Ser Gerold Hightower didn't usually participate anymore. The realm was holding its breath as to when the two of them would die, and who would replace them.

Aegon often sat in on those meetings, as did the queens, his siblings, Dany, and Viserys whenever they were in the capital. Today, it had only been Lyanna.

After the greetings, the their father bid them to sit. Lyanna was smiling at them both as she distributed wine, which Aegon took as an encouraging sign.

“I will not keep you in suspense”, the king said. This was a relief, as he had that tendency. “You know it is time for you – all four of you – to wed, and it is my understanding that all of you are of the same opinion when it comes to the choice of partners.”

They looked at him expectantly. Aegon had to hold onto his cup to keep his hands from shaking.

“Now, I have heard and read many compelling arguments, and have no wish to force any of you to -”

“Father”, Rhaenys interrupted. Her hands were cramped around the table. “You said something about suspense?”

Lyanna rolled her eyes at the king, who raised his hands defensively. “I was just about to get there. In short, the two of you will wed each other, and Jaehaerys will wed Daenerys.”

Aegon let out his breath, feeling himself sink back in his chair. Rhae had already risen and thrown her arms around the king, then placed a kiss on his cheek. He took that in with a bemused, but content expression. “I take it you are both – Rhaenys, let go; you will have me drop my crown – both happy with this solution?”

The prince couldn't stop smiling. Rhae came over to kiss his cheek, too, and mussed his hair. He didn't even mind that this ruined the braided strands holding it back. “This lovelorn fool”, she declared before running to the other side of the table to kiss Lyanna as well, “has been anxiously waiting for this moment all his life.”

She wasn't wrong, and yet: “Lovelorn, yes?” Aegon raised his eyebrows as she let go of Lyanna and returned to him. “And you were not just running around kissing everyone out of happiness?”

“Oh, I could kiss the whole castle”, she said cheerfully, sitting down. He wanted to properly kiss her then and there, but they were still sitting in front of their father and stepmother.

“About that.” The king adopted a sterner expression and adjusted his crown. “It does not matter now, but I find it interesting that it would actually have been quite difficult to betroth you and Daenerys to anyone else. A strange world where the two princes are the only ones who would have you without any of their family voicing reservations.”

Rhaenys threw her head back and groaned, and Aegon finally got to actually drink that wine. He was in no way surprised that their father knew. “Was it not you, my king”, she said, “who said that a woman's maidenhead is essentially imaginary? That the entire concept of being sullied is intrinsically nonsensical; merely a way of ensuring a possible child's parentage that eventually turned into a norm with questionable religious justification?”

“Yes”, their father said flatly. “But I did not mean that as encouragement for all of you to go around bedding half the realm – or Essos, in Daenerys' case, from what your royal mother is telling me. Norms, even if they exist without good reason, _do_ exist and are, thus, meaningful.”

“It makes no matter”, Aegon said. “People will whisper about Rhae's and Dany's honour; people will snigger about both me and Jae marrying unchaste women. Let them. If it becomes too much, one of the others can get on a dragon and ask the good lords and ladies to explain their problem then.”

“People will not only snigger about your unchaste wife.” The king took a slow sip. “Should anyone find out, then what happened between you and Loras Tyrell on Maiden's Day – of all days – would certainly cause a similar reaction.”

Now, Aegon was surprised. “How do you even _know_ that?”

“I know many things.” Their father cast a meaningful glance at Rhaenys, who seemed to just slightly shrink. “Which is why I am saying all of this. I would know either way, but if any of you managed to be more discreet, the rest of the realm would not.” Then he sighed, turning to Lyanna. “Whatever happened to chastity?”

She shook her head, seemingly entertained by the whole conversation. “Elia was not your first.”

“That is true”, he replied. “But did anyone ever find out about the others? No. And that is your lesson for today, children: try to practice some discretion. As long as your adventures are not widely known and no bastards come into play, I do not care. Other people in this castle have been having affairs for years and hardly anyone is aware.”

“Who?”, Rhae asked, and their father smiled thinly.

“If you keep your eyes open, you might find out. It has now been decided you will be queen, so I would suggest you begin to practice.” He turned to Lyanna. “Was there anything else?”

She pretended to think. “Something about your southron nonsense, perhaps?”

“Oh, yes. Aegon, you cannot wed before being knighted; that would be unprincely. Arthur and I have agreed that you are ready. In a week, you will stand vigil in the Great Sept, be anointed by the High Septon, and receive your knighthood.”

“So”, she said when they were alone, walking through her gardens, “Loras?”

“Oh, that.” Aegon waved a hand. “He was overwhelmed by his pining for Ser Renly, I with how much I missed you. A friendly...”, he struggled for a word, “tryst? Nothing more.”

Rhaenys laughed. “I see. It is very elegant of you to turn it around onto your feelings for me.”

“Everything is about my feelings for you.”

“You are making me blush.” She looked at him, not blushing. “We should hold a feast in honour of our betrothal, and then another one when Jae and Dany return. You think of the invitations, I enchant the wine.”

He nodded slowly. “Lord Lannister is on his way, I believe; clearly having tired of Casterly Rock.”

“Excellent.” Tyrion was good company.

“Alarra is in the North, unfortunately, but Alyssa and Jasper Arryn are here – the former quite annoyed that she never sees you despite being your lady-in-waiting -”

Rhaenys scoffed. “Well, she is dull. Am I meant to take _her_ to Summerhall? And Jasper may be too young.”

“Loras and Margaery, of course -”

His sister clicked her tongue at the second name, and Aegon ignored it. “Perhaps Ser Renly, just to torture Loras. Alyn Connington”, he continued, “and we have no choice but to invite Viserys, who I believe is to arrive from Dragonstone by tonight.” It was, technically, Aegon's seat, but he preferred being at court and his uncle needed somewhere to stow away his wife. “The Blackwoods, too. And then, you know, we will fill the space with any young minor noble who is sufficiently comely.”

“Perfect. Oh, brother, so many dreams will be crushed when these betrothals are announced. They will all need to wed each other, now.”

Aegon grinned, stopping to look at her once more. “Yes. Can you imagine marrying one of _them_ instead of us? I would not blame them for being upset.”

_About a moon later_

“So you have been knighted?”, Jae asked, smelling the enchanted wine and settling on one sip.

Aegon nodded. Rhae had sat up during their telling and was now cutting up a peach over a small golden platter. Balerion sniffed it and turned away in disgust. “You will be, too, and soon.”

Dany snuck an eighth of the peach from Rhae's plate, grinning as she saw Jae's disturbed look. “What, and stand vigil in a _sept_? Kneel before His High Lowliness?”

“That name stopped being clever years ago, dear brother”, the Princess of Summerhall said. “It is not that bad.”

“I have never been a squire”, he pointed out.

Dany rolled her eyes, swallowing down the sweet, juicy peach. “You do not need to have been a squire. You killed an Other. That appears to be a sufficiently grand deed.”

“You did _what_?”, Aegon asked, taking a piece of the fruit as well. “How – dragonglass?”

Rhae held out the plate, looking resigned, and Jae grabbed a slice. “Dragonglass”, he confirmed. “A long story, obviously. Perhaps we should both only tell you what happened once we are alone.”

She glanced back at the feast, and it didn't seem like anyone was likely to listen in on them. Still, all agreed it would be prudent to reserve that conversation for a more private environment.

Dany raised her glass. “Then we should enjoy ourselves tonight. To our betrothals, and to us finally being all together again.”

She drank half her wine. As promised, she immediately felt drunk.

After getting to her feet, she took Jae's hand and pulled him off the couch. “We have many people to greet.”

“Do that”, Aegon said, “but truly, be careful with the wine. Father will blame me if you do something particularly outrageous.”

Jae claimed that he'd have her brought to her rooms before she got to that point, but all knew he was just as likely to cause outrage as she was.

Not that this was Dany's intent, at least not tonight. She did look forward to eventually retiring with her betrothed, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, Loras is already a knight at this point. Here he isn't because he grew up alongside Aegon, and I don't think the Tyrells would have their son of basically the same age knighted before the Prince of Dragonstone, for fear or causing offence to the Crown.
> 
> Ser Adrian Waynwood (a non-canon character from a canon House) gets a spot on the Kingsguard in Father, Brother, King after Ser Jonothor Darry dies.


	9. Court I

**Part II: The Wrong War**

_King's Landing, three days before the wedding of Their Graces the Prince of Dragonstone and the Princess of Summerhall_

_Rhaenys_

“I feel as if I ought to give you advice before you are wed”, her mother said. “Then again, there is nothing I can tell you that you do not already know, and your betrothed is not exactly a stranger.”

“Not exactly”, Rhaenys agreed. They stood atop the outer walls of the Red Keep, watching as yet another delegation of wedding guests made its way through the city and towards the castle. Though her uncle Oberyn had arrived with Sarella and Tyene a while ago, the rest of the Dornish were coming now – Arianne and Quentyn, the other older Sand Snakes, the Martells' longtime ward and hostage Asha Greyjoy, and a plethora of other nobles. “In all honesty, us finally being wed will change very little.”

“It should.” The queen gave her a stern look. “You will both take this occasion as an opportunity to quit playing games. Your father, Lyanna, and I cannot keep putting out the fires you start, and your adventures will reflect badly on your marriage.”

Rhaenys stopped herself from clicking her tongue in annoyance. “I assume Father is telling Aegon the same?”

“Certainly.” Her mother was referring to what had happened with Margaery, she knew – in the brief period between the castle being filled with whispers of the betrothals and the actual public announcement, she'd all but thrown herself at Aegon, perhaps believing that bedding him would make him fall in love with her and demand they should be wed.

Rhaenys had thought the solution to this was quite clear, and Aegon had agreed. He _had_ warned Margaery that it wouldn't change anything before taking her maidenhead, and Rhaenys didn't think it was his fault that she hadn't believed him. The next day, an aghast Lord Tyrell had appeared in their father's solar, where it had been ultimately agreed that all would be best served by keeping things quiet. Loras hadn't talked to her brother for a whole two days after that, perhaps for the first time either of them could remember.

“You say we are playing games”, she told her mother, “but we do not do these things without reason.”

“No.” The queen took her arm as the Dornish group neared the castle gate. “You may both be using wine and your bodies, but you are playing a child's game nonetheless. The fact that you are less reckless with your lives than Dany and Jae does not absolve you.”

She was only glad that her mother didn't know about some of her sorceries, because stepping into a dragon's flame on the pure hope that she hadn't mistranslated the scrolls certainly qualified as recklessness.

Rhaenys knew her cousins well; Dorne being quick and easy to reach on dragonback. It was good to see Arianne again, and the difference between her and Quentyn was striking as always. Obara and Nymeria were a welcome sight, too; even if she was not as close to them as to Sarella and Tyene.

She'd always kept a careful distance to Asha Greyjoy, even though some of the Sand Snakes had not. The woman was a hostage after all.

Ten years ago, when Rhaenys had only been a little girl, Quellon Greyjoy had died a sudden and somewhat suspicious death; falling overboard while returning from a curtesy visit to King's Landing. She still remembered the hushed whispers between her parents back then, as they'd thought him a wise man capable of ruling the Iron Islands, and didn't have much regard for his heir Balon. This had proved to be an accurate assessment: the new Lord Reaper of Pyke severely misjudged her father to be overly occupied with preparations for the fight against the Others and unwilling to go to war. This and the then-present unrest in the Westerlands – Lord Tyrion had just come of age and was stuck in a prolonged but bloodless standoff with his uncle Kevan over who would be Lord of Casterly Rock – had led to Balon swiftly declaring himself King of the Iron Islands.

Rhaenys would never forget the time the true king and many of the other men had been away, nor the day she, Dany, and her brothers had bid him goodbye at the harbour. Weeks of both her mother and Lyanna trying to disguise their fear from them had followed, with the Red Keep feeling strangely empty and even Viserys gone in his capacity as Ser Barristan's squire – until Father had returned with not a scratch on him.

It had been an overwhelming victory. Balon Greyjoy had been beheaded for treason by the king himself, and all of his sons safe the youngest had died in the fighting. Theon Greyjoy became the Lord of the Iron Islands under his uncle's regency, his sister Asha was sent to Dorne as a ward. In the midst of things, he'd also convinced Kevan Lannister to relent and leave Casterly Rock so his nephew could take his rightful place.

“I take it you are happy”, Arianne said while they walked towards the quarters prepared for the Dornish. “You have left most of the realm frantically scrambling for betrothals, now. My princely father is drowning in offers for my hand all of a sudden.”

Rhaenys tried to imagine any of the second sons from north of the Red Mountains at her cousin's side. “As if you would take anyone but a comely young Dornishman.”

“I will not, of course. When did Jae and Dany return? We saw their dragons over the Kingswood.”

“A few days ago. They had an interesting time in the Free Cities and at the Wall.” When they'd told her and Aegon their whole stories, it had become very clear why the king had been so furious with them.

Nevertheless – Rhaenys couldn't wait to get her hands on Dark Sister. “I have heard a few bits and pieces”, Arianne said. “Though I presume the king would not want everything widely known.” That was true. “I need to speak to him, in fact”, she went on, castling a glance over her shoulder and lowering her voice. “About the Lady Asha. Whether she should be left in Dorne or sent back to the Iron Islands; if she should be wed and if yes, to whom. Her brother has just married, and the rebellion was a decade ago.”

“He will find time for you”, Rhaenys promised. She wondered if her father would send someone to the Iron Islands first to take the measure of their young lord – ideally a dragon rider. “Until then, you should all rest and enjoy yourselves. There are many feasts planned.”

“Oh, good”, Arianne said. “I would have been so disappointed if not.”

As she returned to Maegor's in order to receive a rather interesting visitor, Rhaenys saw Viserys emerge from his rooms, looking decidedly gloomy.

This wasn't unusual, and yet: “You seem as if you are about to throw yourself out of the window, uncle.”

He sighed, shutting the door to his rooms behind him. “I am about to welcome my wife back to the capital. Your royal father thought it might look strange if she did not join the festivities.”

“But Lysa is such wonderful company.” Rhaenys patted his shoulder in passing. “Please keep her away from us as much as possible.”

There were no Kingsguard in the corridor, which told her that Melisandre was already in her chambers. She found her on a couch in the front room, Ser Jaime standing by the door to ensure the red priestess did not touch anything she shouldn't.

“You may leave us, ser”, Rhaenys told the knight. “Call in a maid for wine and water.” He glanced at Melisandre with a raised eyebrow before obeying, and while he left, Balerion darted into the room.

The princess sat opposite her guest, taking a moment to study the woman. Red robes, red hair, red _eyes_ , and a large red ruby gleaming around her neck. “How old are you?”, she asked.

“Quite old. The Lord of Light blesses some of His servants with a long life.” Her accent was eastern; from a place much further away than the Free Cities. Asshai, Father had said, just as intrigued as Rhaenys. “If He has a plan for them, that is.”

“Do you know this plan?” While Balerion hopped into her lap, the servant entered the room, quickly dispersing the wine and a jug of water before disappearing.

Melisandre had a slow sip from a silver cup, studying the princess in turn. “To help defeat the creatures of the Great Other, Your Grace.”

“Very good.” Rhaenys sat back on her couch, stroking the cat. “Assuming you are referring to the Others, of course.” She cocked her head. “So who do you believe to be Azor Ahai? It is a myth from your own home. Is it my brother or my aunt?”

“The flames show me both. Both were born amidst salt smoke beneath a bleeding star, waking the dragons out of stone.” So much, so old.

The princess looked down on her cat; leaving black hairs on the layers of fine crimson linen that made up her skirts. “And how do you mean to help? Are you capable of strong magic?”

“If R'hllor chooses to work through me.” She sounded like she believed it.

“That is not all”, Rhaenys said. “You come from Asshai. Are all the Asshai'i mages followers of R'hllor? Could you or I not do the same as the sorcerers in Qohor, and if and when we do, does that mean the Black Goat works through us?”

Melisandre's face showed a brief glimpse of disgust. “Like all other false gods, the Black Goat is nothing but a face worn by the Great Other. The Lord's flame would consume me long before such an influence could take its hold.”

If that was so, many of the Great Other's faces offered a wealth of opportunity. “You believe it all, then?” Most priests and septons Rhaenys knew certainly didn't. “The Lord of Light is all that is good, and everything else is evil?”

“That is the truth, princess. The one and only truth that matters.”

Even the clergy she knew would put on such an act from time to time, but somehow, she didn't think Melisandre was pretending. “Then I am evil”, Rhaenys declared. “Do not misunderstand me – I believe in your god. I believe that R'hllor is the Lord of Light; of fire which is _life_ , and that He will deliver us from the Great Other and the icy death that evil means to bring.” She adjusted a garnet-studded bracelet around her wrist. “I also believe that there is but one god with seven aspects – Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and Stranger – who once walked the hills of Andalos and blessed Hugor of the Hill along with his four-and-fourty sons, and who now lend their voice to the High Septon. I believe that the true gods are countless and faceless, resting in the weirwoods most common in the North and depending on the trees for power. They are strengthened by blood sacrifice, require no priests nor holy texts, and are as generous as they are demanding.” She had a sip of wine. “I believe in the gods of old Valyria; in using fire and blood and in the divinity of my kin. I believe in the pain and pleasure of the Weeping Lady of Lys; I believe that the bells of Norvos profess the will of a god whose name I am unworthy of knowing; I believe that the Black Goat will protect me if I am willing to sacrifice my child. In a pinch, I could even believe that the Drowned God would let me feast in his watery halls if I died at sea.” Balerion meowed in apparent agreement.

As far as she could tell, the priestess looked displeased. “Your Grace cannot believe all these things at once.”

“I certainly can. They are all as true as they are false, and they all lead to results.”

Melisandre set down her cup. “I am not surprised that one could worship the false gods interchangeably, as they are all disguises of the Other. You are right that it makes no matter. But it is evil nonetheless, and fruitless – the only true power comes from prayer to R'hllor.”

Rhaenys ran her hands through the cat's fur, feeling him drifting off to a nap. “Prayer. To ask is to be denied. I may feign prayer, my lady, but all I truly do is to bargain with the gods I choose to believe in during that specific moment. The power comes from within us – and the same applies to you. You are merely more committed to the paradigm you chose.”

“I shall pray, princess”, the priestess replied, “that the Lord of Light will guide you to choose better. To let you serve Him, as we all should.”

There was a very small number of those Rhaenys was willing to serve, and they were all part of her family. “How can you be sure he is not working through me already?”, she asked. “I ride a dragon, my lady; fire made flesh. I have stood in his flames and not been burned. I have looked into the flames and seen, and I am able to...” She pulled the tiny dragonglass blade she always wore from out of a pocket in her sleeve, placed a very shallow cut on her finger, and smeared a drop of blood on the inner wall of her wine cup. Then Rhaenys took a candle and held the flame close. _“Perzys.”_

The fire began at the blood and spread to the liquid, as if wine wasn't too weak of a drink to burn. Rhaenys held onto the cup, unflinching despite the heat. _Yne z_ _ā_ _lagon daor_. Do not burn me.

She finally dumped the flaming cup into the jug of water, feeling her fingers slightly raw after all and watching how the fire flared up before dying. Balerion had slept through it all. “Does this appear like a gift the Great Other might bestow onto me?”, she asked. “Or perhaps rather the Lord of Light?”

Melisandre's face was expressionless. “Do you believe it is R'hllor's gift?”

She shrugged. “I can. Do you?”

“I will need to gaze into the flames.” The priestess was, perhaps, just slightly disconcerted.

“Please do”, Rhaenys said. “And when you inevitably find the truth – teach me. I want to know all the tricks you learned in Asshai, and everything you picked up on the way here. I am _awful_ at glamours, for instance, and only halfway decent when it comes to divination, though I understand that the nature of the discipline limits its usefulness. But truly, show me everything you know.”

“ _If”_ , Melisandre replied, “R'hllor tells me to do so, I will. If not, Your Grace must understand that I will not be able to comply.”

The princess wasn't concerned. “I think we both know what your god will tell you. So go and ask – I shall be busy with my wedding for the time being. I will ensure you have a place at the feast, and then we will speak once the festivities are done.”

The priestess rightly took this as her cue to rise, though Rhaenys remembered one more thing. “I should add: no proselytising. The red priest at court is Thoros of Myr, and he is the only one allowed to halfheartedly attempt conversions. Talk of religion at weddings tends to ruin the mood.”

_Three days later_

Aegon had always been hers.

Rhaenys couldn't remember a time it had been different. Her earliest memory was of losing her old wooden dragon toy and him making a bigger fuzz about it than she had; completely unwilling to rest until every corner of the castle had been searched and it finally emerged that it had slipped between the pillows of an armchair. They'd always been together – in their lessons, no matter whether they'd been with their parents, Archmaester Marwyn, or the knights of the Kingsguard. The same applied to Jae and Dany, of course, and yet, he'd always sought out her company above everyone else's, and it had always pleased her.

Jae and Dany had never had to truly claim their dragons; they'd essentially been born with them, and there'd never been a question about who would be bound to whom. Vēzos' rider had been uncertain for long – Viserys had tried to ride him at the age of fifteen, but the dragon hadn't accepted this, even though he'd thankfully been as gentle about it as a dragon could possibly be. On Aegon's fourteenth nameday, Rhaenys had told him that it was time for him to claim his mount. He had laughed then, declaring that it was obviously her turn first. It had worked, and she supposed they'd never find out how Vēzos might have reacted to him.

While there'd never been a doubt that they belonged together, it was nice to make it official; swear their love before gods and men. She received many splendid gifts, of course – Dark Sister most importantly of all, testament to Jae's successful recklessness – and delighted in the splendour of the feast and ceremony. Nothing, however, was nearly as satisfying as when they both lay there breathless a while after the bedding and she could say: “You make quite the good husband.”

He looked at her the way he _only_ looked at her – with a level of admiration she'd never seen anyone else express so openly. “You know”, Aegon then said, smirking, “that may have been the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

She hit him on the shoulder, sinking into the pillows. “That cannot be. I am quite sure that I told you you were handsome after the first time we had lain with each other.”

“Ah, yes, I remember.” He was lying on his side. “You then spent a good hour insisting that you had merely voiced an objective fact.” It _was_ an objective fact. “Has our marriage already softened your heart? You know I will love you either way; I am merely curious.”

Rhaenys huffed. “There is nothing soft about my heart. We cannot both speak in sappy declarations of love the entire time; it would be tedious.”

He hummed and took her hand. “I know your heart, and that I am in it. And whether you would like to loudly declare our love or not, it makes no matter, as you are the most regal, beautiful -”

She covered his mouth with her hand, and felt him kiss it. “Stop talking”, Rhaenys decided. “We have better things to do on our wedding night.”

Aegon took her hand and kissed her wrist. “As you wish, my beloved wife.”

It felt good to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar beheading Balon vs Robert accepting his oath – in canon, Balon argues after his defeat that Robert can't call him a traitor since no Greyjoy had ever sworn an oath of fealty to House Baratheon. This doesn't apply to House Targaryen, of course, and so Balon losing his life is the necessary consequence of his treason.  
> Theon's regent until he came of age (now 5 years ago) was Rodrik Harlaw, because he's a powerful lord, his uncle, and because I think he and Rhaegar would get along. It could've been his mother, but the Iron Islands aren't necessarily known for liking female rulers.  
> With Theon inheriting his father's titles and the Iron Islands being rather hostile to having a young boy as their ruler, it wouldn't make sense for him to become a ward and be raised far away. His sister did, though, and sending Asha to Dorne instead of the North was based on a) it being further away and b) Elia thinking that having a Greyjoy woman eventually return to the Iron Islands after having been partially raised in Dorne would be a fun way to fuck with ironborn culture.


	10. Court II

_Pyke, a week after the wedding of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Princess of Summerhall_

_Aegon_

“How much of that was destroyed in the Rebellion?”, Rhaenys asked as they circled above the castle on Vēzos, studying its succession of towers only connected by increasingly dangerous bridges. It would have been easy to defend, had their father not brought such an overwhelming force against Balon Greyjoy.

“A few of the towers by the gatehouse”, Aegon said into her ear while the dragon slowly made its way down. “A lot of it just seems ruined because it is old and decaying.”

Vēzos' powerful wings brought them down behind the walls in front of the first and largest tower. They could have landed atop one of them to make a statement about the fact that they could – back during the Rebellion, the king hadn't even needed dragons, and now there were three – but it seemed clear enough. “Many castles are old”, Rhae told him. “Yet they manage not to look like they are falling apart.”

It was true: Pyke clearly lacked the aura of eternity; of a certain apathy in the face of the passage of centuries that places like Winterfell emitted.

They were greeted by the master-at-arms, an amazingly hideous man, as well as Lord Rodrik Harlaw, who they both knew from occasional visits to King's Landing. His nephew's former regent, their father thought highly of him.

Aegon was thrilled to have been given the task of visiting the Iron Islands, and so was his wife. It made sense, of course – he was 17 now, knighted and wed and the heir anyway. Rhae supplied the dragon, which made the entire journey infinitely quicker. Though they wouldn't have needed to, they'd spent a night at Riverrun with Lord Tully and his son, who was one of the many young nobles now left scrambling for a betrothal. It seemed likely he would end up marrying Lord Darry's daughter; now on the verge of becoming an old maid purely because her father had kept her unwed for his future liege.

Lord Harlaw led them through the first keep of the castle and into the Greyjoys' Great Hall, which managed to be simultaneously damp and smokey. Carved wooden beams decorated it, though they were worm-eaten, and the floor was covered in rushes instead of carpets.

Theon Greyjoy rose from the Seastone Chair as they approached. Aegon would have recognised him instantly anyway – there was a resemblance to his sister in his lean physique and handsomely sharp features, even the short black hair. The prince wondered if either of them knew what the other looked like today.

The young lord bowed and greeted them with cold politeness; just enough to not cause offence. Aegon supposed they couldn't have expected a warmer welcome given their families' histories. “My uncles”, Greyjoy then introduced, “Victarion, the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet”, a man as large as Brandon Stark, “and Aeron, a priest of our Drowned God.” Aegon could see Rhaenys' intrigued smile as she studied the man and his long hair and beard weaved with seaweeds. “And my rock wife, Gysella of House Goodbrother.”

“A marriage already blessed”, Aegon said with a look at her belly. “Our congratulations.”

Like her husband, the Lady Greyjoy was comely, but would have looked much better in finer garb. There was a lot of tattered wool and sealskin all around.

“Thank you, Your Grace”, Lord Theon said, still stiff. “My apologies that I was unable to attend your wedding.”

“The Lady Asha was there in your stead, my lord”, Rhaenys pointed out. “She is who we have come to discuss.”

“Of course.” Greyjoy took a few steps back towards the Seastone Chair. “You must be tired from your journey. A suite in the Guest Keep has been prepared -”

He was interrupted by the doors to the Great Hall swinging wide open. It was so sudden that Aegon's hand instinctively flew to Blackfyre's hilt at his hip, and he wasn't the only one – both Theon and Victarion Greyjoy reached for their weapons, and Rhaenys half unsheathed Dark Sister.

A single man strode in, which was reassuring. A Greyjoy, obviously – features similar to Theon's, pitch-black hair, and an eyepatch. It was dark in the hall, but Aegon thought that his lips looked wrong somehow, as if they were bruised.

As all let go of their weapons, he exchanged a look with Rhaenys. This could only be Euron Crow's Eye, the famed pirate apparently returned from exile – and only now and to everyone's surprise, judging by the looks on his relatives' faces.

He stepped close to them, looking up at Theon Greyjoy with a mocking smile. “Nuncle”, the lord said flatly, falling into the Seastone Chair. “Have you come to greet our royal guests?”

“I have come to see their dragon.” His unhidden eye met Aegon's, and the prince raised in eyebrow in the way his father would have. Euron Greyjoy bowed, still mockingly.

A man to be wary of, Aegon decided, especially because Rhaenys seemed tense next to him. “A glorious beast, Your Grace”, the Crow's Eye said. “Would that I could see him up close.”

“It is perilous for most to approach a dragon”, Rhae said. “Though my lord is welcome to try his luck.”

Aegon looked at those around them. All the other Greyjoys were glaring at Euron with undisguised hatred, Lord Harlaw seemed pensive, and Lady Gysella had taken a step back and placed a protective hand on her belly.

No love lost, then. “As you were just saying, Lord Greyjoy”, Aegon pointedly addressed Theon alone, “we are, indeed, tired from the journey. If my royal wife and I could be shown to our rooms to rest, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Certainly, my prince.” Theon seemed slightly relieved to be rid of them for the time being. “There will be a feast held in your honour tonight, and then we shall speak of my sweet sister.”

“That Euron is dangerous”, Rhaenys said as soon as they were alone. Servants had already brought in their belongings. “Have you seen his lips? He drinks shade of the evening, and often. And do they not say his personal arms show a red eye? That that is what he hides under his eyepatch?” She stripped of her leather breeches, needing to wear a gown for the feast. “Who else do we know of with red eyes? Bloodraven and the priestess Melisandre. He is a sorcerer, no doubt.”

“If you say so.” Aegon examined the room, which was not in the greatest of states, but possibly the best that Pyke had on offer. He thought that Theon Greyjoy, at the very least, had every intention of treating them with the respect and curtesy required.

That was really the most they could expect, considering that Theon had seen their father take his father's head as a boy. “But how could Euron threaten us?”, he asked, glancing at her and being pleased to see she was near naked.

Rhaenys slipped into a thin shift. “I do not know, but I wish to find out. Has he not been in exile for years? Why come back now?” She tied an underskirt around her waist. “Perhaps it means nothing; perhaps he is no threat to us. A man curious in regards to the higher mysteries and nothing more – I could not blame him. But it would be good to know.”

“That is true.” Aegon was sure there were servants they could call in, but he walked over to Rhaenys to help her into a heavy gown of blood red samite and silver lace. “And then there is Theon. A young lord with many uncles, at least one of whom he does not seem to like. I bet he prays for his wife to have a boy, securing his rule. Perhaps we should give him something.”

“Are we not here to give him his sister?” Rhaenys placed jewellery on herself while Aegon laced up her gown. “And do we _want_ his rule secured?”

“We will see.” He finished and turned her around. They were almost of the same height; both tall, though Aegon had overtaken her a few years ago. “You know that I _hate_ to say this, but we are on the Iron Islands, so perhaps during the feast it would be good for you to -”

“Let the men do the talking?” She rolled her eyes, but gave him a quick kiss. “I know. I shall speak to the ladies about – whatever it is ironborn ladies speak of. The trinkets their husbands bring back from the Stepstones, perhaps.”

Whatever it was they talked about, Rhaenys seemed to be doing fine, entertaining the women of the Iron Islands with tales from court. Not that there were many – the feast seemed to mostly include the captains, many of whom were lords, and very few of their wives or daughters. Greyjoy's mother was present, however, speaking to Rhaenys and her good-daughter.

His lordship himself, meanwhile, was well in his cups, and seemed better disposed towards Aegon than he'd been upon their arrival. “My wife”, Theon declared, “is the most comely of all ironborn women. That is why I chose her. And yet, I have been to Lannisport and Oldtown, Your Grace, and I have fought Lyseni pirates and seen their slaves – which means that I know there are women far more beautiful. In short, my prince, I need a salt wife.”

Aegon had a sip of the ale they served here, though he had to be careful not to let it get to his head. He hadn't eaten much of the bland food. “Well, perhaps you can win one off a Lyseni pirate.”

“Perhaps.” Lord Greyjoy seemed to like the idea. “Have you considered taking another wife, as your royal father has?” His face immediately darkened upon mentioning the king.

He shook his head. “My dear sister is quite enough.”

“If my wife had a dragon, I would say the same.” They both looked out over the feast. Victarion Greyjoy and Rodrik Harlaw were with one group of captains, Euron with another. Aeron was absent. “Mayhaps I should do like Your Grace and wed my sister. Then again, when I last saw her, she was a scrawny thing with a pimply face.”

It took Aegon a moment to realise that Greyjoy hadn't been serious. In his family, it was easy to forget that to wed a close relative was generally frowned upon. “She has become quite comely”, he said anyway. “Now, my lord – the Iron Throne should like to return her to you, as a long time has passed since your lord father's”, he hesitated, “mistake. Treason has a high price, but the king considers it paid.”

Theon nodded slowly, taking a large swig of his ale. “She remains unwed, I hear?”

“Yes. It will be your decision.” Though she'd been raised with the Sand Snakes. Aegon didn't know her well, but he couldn't imagine that she'd easily bend to her brother's will.

“Any lord of the Iron Islands will be glad for the honour of marrying a Greyjoy”, Theon said. “Is she a maid? I would imagine not, after all that time in Dorne.”

Aegon agreed, though he didn't say so. “I do not know of the state of your sister's virtue, my lord, but I do not doubt that any of your men would be honoured to wed her – even if she were hideous and a former whore, which she is not. A Greyjoy, as you said.”

As he'd thought, the other man was pleased with this assessment. “Your Grace speaks true. Does your royal father offer to send her back out of the goodness of his heart? Forgive me if I do not believe that, as I have witnessed his mercy with my own eyes.”

Not the most courteous way to phrase it, but he wasn't wrong. “You must guarantee to obey the throne in all regards, of course – which would be expected either way, considering the vow you made all those years ago.” He'd been a frightened boy kneeling before the king, Aegon had heard. “The war for the dawn is approaching, my lord. Every man in the Seven Kingdoms must fight, and that includes all ironborn.” Aegon had another sip of ale. “My father the king commands you to journey to the capital and restate your vows before court, now that you are a man grown. When you return to the Iron Islands, you will take the Lady Asha with you.”

Greyjoy pretended to consider for a moment, though of course a refusal was not an option. This was not, in fact, his father's explicit command – Aegon had been given the freedom to make his own decision and announce it on the king's behalf. “Very well”, the lord said then. “Perhaps I will visit the Stepstones on the way back and find that salt wife.”

Then he rose and banged his fist on the table several times; strong enough for the plates and cups upon it to rattle. Aegon was glad to note that this quieted the guests almost immediately.

“Lords, ladies, captains”, Greyjoy thundered, lowering the cadence of his voice quite a bit. Someone had to have taught him that, which was good as well. “Ten years ago, my sister Asha became a ward in Dorne at the king's command. Soon, I will sail to bring her back.” A few half-hearted cheers ensued. “She's three-and-twenty, she's comely, she's unwed. If any of you think you're worthy of her hand, best prepare.” Then, he grinned widely. “There'll be a contest.”

This caused a loud and collective roar of approval. Aegon met Rhae's eyes across the hall, and he could tell she was just as bemused by all of it as he was. “What contest?”, someone remembered to ask.

Theon Greyjoy shrugged as he sat back down. “I'll decide later. What do you think, prince? Perhaps it should include the finger dance.”

Aegon searched his memory, and came up empty. “What is the finger dance?”, he asked, suspicious.

Greyjoy seemed delighted as he gestured at someone and was handed an axe. “I will be more than happy to show Your Grace.”

_King's Landing, two days later_

_Jaehaerys_

“There they are”, Dany said, pointing up to Vēzos in the sky.

He nodded, then held a small Myrish mirror into the sunlight so that they would catch Aegon and Rhae's attention. It would only waste time for them to land in the courtyard and cross half the castle, he thought as both he and Dany left the balcony for the small council chamber.

It was strange to see everyone in black. Not an unusual colour choice for a member of their House, of course, but the likes of Monford Velaryon and Mace Tyrell tended to be dressed more vibrantly.

“They are approaching”, Jaehaerys told the small council, then pulled out a chair next to Elia for Dany.

Old Lord Arryn looked decidedly corpselike in mourning clothes. “I believe we all know who the Prince of Dragonstone will suggest”, he said with a glance at Lord Tyrell.

“My lord may guess all he likes”, Elia replied. “And is, of course, free to offer his own _suggestions_.”

“In fact”, the king said, “I believe we should get all of these out of the way as quickly as possible. I am open to any proposal. Lord Baratheon?”

The master of war looked grim, but then again, he always did. “I believe Ser Andrew Estermont would make a suitable candidate, Your Grace. He is skilled and honourable. Further”, Lord Stannis' face gained a slight look of disgust, “my lady wife asked me to recommend her cousin Lancel.”

“Andrew Estermont”, the king repeated with a nod at Jaehaerys' mother, who noted the name down. “Very well. If I require a suggestion from House Lannister, I will speak with Lord Tyrion.”

Lord Baratheon wasn't surprised, and Jaehaerys saw his mother struggle to hide a smirk. “Lord Blackwood?”

“You are all aware I have many sons.” Jaehaerys exchanged a look with Dany, who subtly indicated the number with her fingers: six. “If it is not too presumptuous, I would like for Your Grace to consider my Lucas. Young he may be, but he possesses great skill, a quick wit, and the trust of the princes and princesses.”

Jaehaerys considered this. He did like the Blackwoods, and they were probably the next best thing to a northerner from his mother's point of view. Then again, he'd knocked Lucas into the dirt often enough to not want him as his protector.

“Of course, my lord”, Lord Velaryon said, “none of your sons are knights.”

“That can be changed”, Lord Blackwood replied. “Our Prince Jaehaerys here was no knight less than a fortnight ago -”

This was interrupted by the sound of Vēzos' wings flapping nearby, and his legs touching upon the railing of the balcony. All turned to squint outside and watch Aegon and Rhae climb off the dragon, who was far too large to land properly.

Aegon's eyes went wide as he entered the room, taking in their attire. Rhae, too, frowned. “Who died?”, she asked, gaze darting across those assembled.

“Ser Gerold”, the king said. “He was found dead in his bed this morning.”

“Seven hells.” Rhae promptly sat down on the last chair available at the crowded table, while Aegon leaned on the back of Jaehaerys' seat.

Though not surprising, it was a sad thing to hear for all of them. It took a moment for his brother to speak. “I suppose we are all here to discuss his replacement?”

“Indeed.” The king looked at those assembled. “Leave us, my lords. I wish to speak to my family privately.”

The lords obeyed at varying speeds, though Lord Arryn couldn't be blamed for being slow on his feet. As Elia looked past him, Jaehaerys was quite sure that she would have preferred to discuss his replacement on this day – she had long wanted a Hand less powerful and more susceptible to her ideas.

“What happened to your hand?”, Dany asked as Aegon sank into a chair just vacated by Grand Maester Agrivane (also very old) and they all got to see the bandage he wore around his thumb.

His brother sighed as Jaehaerys passed him a cup of wine. “The ironborn are mad. Their favourite drinking game revolves around throwing axes at each other.”

“He did quite well”, Rhae added. “It is apparently rare to not lose a finger.”

“Mad indeed.” His mother pushed the short list of possible new Kingsguard away from her. “We must hear what you experienced on Pyke, and we must discuss Ser Gerold's replacement.”

“The funeral is already being prepared”, Elia added. “A raven has been sent to the Hightower. Ser Gerold will lie in state until whoever they wish to send to the capital has arrived.”

Aegon nodded slowly. “We will go and see his body as soon as we are done here. And of course, the new Kingsguard should be Loras.” This surprised no one. “For one, I trust him, and I believe we need someone young. He is the best young swordsman in the realm, half a Hightower – so his appointment will please Oldtown – a third son, and it may soothe the Tyrells'... irritation.”

“Irritation”, their father repeated drily. “An appointment to the Kingsguard for Lady Margaery's maidenhead, I suppose.”

Aegon cleared his throat while Rhae sniggered into her cup. “She knew what she was doing.”

“Be that as it may.” The king was very obviously annoyed. Looking at Dany, Jaehaerys could tell that he wasn't the only one to be relieved that his siblings, too, had gotten in trouble – if not into the same sort of danger that they had experienced. “Loras Tyrell is not, as it stands, a knight. To give him his knighthood now and immediately appoint him to the Kingsguard would be too obvious.”

“We can find some sort of reason.” Aegon shrugged. “Jae was knighted for killing an Other. I have no doubt it is true, yet nobody at court saw it, and they still either believed it or pretended to.”

The king's face didn't show what he thought of the suggestion. “I will consider this. Ser Barristan shall become the new Lord Commander, being both Arthur's and Prince Lewyn's senior.” Jaehaerys had no problem with the idea of Loras Tyrell on the Kingsguard – not only was it true that he was amazingly skilled, he was also undoubtedly loyal to Aegon, and thus to the rest of them. “Now, Pyke. What did you make of young Lord Greyjoy?”

Aegon and Rhae exchanged a look. “He will do”, she announced. “In fact, he is coming to King's Landing in order to repeat his vows to you, Father, and then take his sister home. We do not believe he wants anything but to maintain his grip on the Iron Islands, occasionally fight someone on the Stepstones, and be left alone by the Crown as much as possible.”

“That would be good”, his mother said. “With the war for the dawn approaching, the last thing we need is trouble anywhere in the realm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon's wife: Gorold Goodbrother is one of the most powerful lords of the Iron Islands and has 12 daughters, who I'd guess he'd be desperate to get married. Theon would have needed his support.
> 
> Some very specific considerations but – I've never had the impression that a big thing is made in Westeros of guests not wearing their weapons? When I mentioned Aegon and Rhaenys reaching for their swords I thought “should they even have them?”, but I also really wanted to mention that they carry them now.  
> I've also not included any guest right traditions since I don't think it's huge on the Iron Islands. The GoT wiki says it is, but that's generally show-only and it doesn't cite anything on that specific point, so, eh. Aegon and Rhaenys have a dragon with them, meaning they're not particularly nervous either way.
> 
> Also, Euron's other eye is black and not red, but Rhaenys doesn't know that.


	11. Court III

_King's Landing, that same night_

_Daenerys_

“Wake up!”, Dany heard, and she rolled further into her betrothed's arms. “Jae. Dany. Wake _up_!”

She squeezed her eyes together, hearing her lover groan and feeling him draw her closer. Then the sheet was rudely yanked off them, baring their bodies to the cold of the night. _“Up”_ , Rhae demanded once more.

“Why”, she moaned, blinking to open her eyes. She felt the soft fabric of her robe hit her.

“Marwyn.” Dany could now see that it was still the middle of the night; the only source of light the flicker of a candle Rhae seemed to be holding. “If you do not get up _now_ , I will have Lyanna come in and then she will see you like this.”

At that, Jae let go and moved away from her, leaving her fully cold. Annoyed, Dany sat up and slid one arm into the sleeve of her robe.

Rhae was standing at the foot of Jae's bed, also wrapped in a black silk night robe. She tapped her foot while Jae was struggling to put on his breeches. “What could possibly be _this_ important?”, he asked.

“I would like to know as well.” Her niece watched them both scramble to get dressed. “Mother barged into Aegon's rooms not long ago and shook us awake. She said something about the glass candle and that we should wake you, and then she was off for Marwyn's study.”

Then it had to truly be important. Dany crawled out of the bed and slid her feet into the slippers Rhae kicked towards her as Jae slipped on a tunic.

They hurried after Rhae. Marwyn's study was in Maegor's, just on the floor above their rooms; close to the king's and the queens' chambers. When they entered, Dany was once again amazed by the light the glass candle emitted.

The archmaester was scribbling on parchments while Rhaegar, his wives, and Aegon stood by the candle. The vibrancy the light gave to colours made all of them look otherworldly.

“Look”, Lyanna said as she stepped back from the candle, silver eyes disturbed. The white of her robe was blinding.

Rhae was the first at the candle, and the one most used to it. While Dany still stared and struggled to see what it was meant to show them, she already started cursing.

Dany squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear her mind of the distraction caused by the people around her. Then she _saw_.

“Who is that?”, Jae asked, and a quick glance at him nearly broke her focus. Objectively he wasn't nearly as beautiful as Aegon and Rhaegar, but here -

She needed to get a grip. “Theon Greyjoy”, Rhae said grimly, hands gripping the table.

“Well, fuck”, Jae replied. Dany agreed, because the young man they were looking at had a deep, blackish purple line around his throat that looked even worse than Rhaegar's scar, and unnaturally pale skin, and vacant eyes.

Next, there was a heart-wrenching scream; distorted and likely made even worse through the glass candle. They saw a man with an eyepatch drag an obviously pregnant woman towards Greyjoy's corpse, forcing her to look at it.

“I will not watch this again”, Elia announced, joining Lyanna by the window while the other woman handed her the cup of wine she'd poured for herself.

“None of you should need to see this”, Rhaegar said through his clenched jaw. It was his will that was showing them what the others had already seen, and of course, they all watched anyway.

Watched as the man with the eyepatch pressed the woman's face to that of the corpse, speaking of the nonexistence of any god but himself. As he kicked and beat any part of her but her belly, then raped her (this part was thankfully more difficult to make out; Rhaegar clearly being reluctant to see it again), threatened to cut out her child if she did not say a prayer to him. When the woman finally did, he pulled out a dagger and stabbed and cut her, slowly and cruelly, until the floor was covered in thick blood and her screams finally stopped.

They watched the man, half naked and bloody, step over the corpses before sitting upon a throne made of oily black stone, shaped like a kraken. He took off his eyepatch then, revealing not a gash but a black and terrible eye – and _winked_ with the other one, staring straight at them.

It sounded like Rhae tried to curse, but all that came out was a choked sound. The glass candle made the black of her eyes and hair swallow all light, but even its shine couldn't disguise how pale she'd grown.

“Euron Crow's Eye, I assume?”, Jae finally asked into the silence, prompting Aegon to nod. Elia wordlessly handed Dany a cup of wine, which she drained even though what she'd just seen had made her feel sick.

“Has this”, she began, then swallowed and started again, “has this already happened or is it in the future?”

“It has happened.” Marwyn's voice was characteristically gruff. “Just now. Too late to change it.”

“He is -” Rhae began, took wine from her mother, and fell into a chair. “I said so, did I not? A sorcerer, and a terrifying one. He saw us, there. I could _feel_ him see us. Whatever we do now, we must first learn everything about him.”

At that, Marwyn rose, letting a stack of parchments drop onto the table in front of her. “Read then, princess. This is all I have – years of reports of what I have heard of his deeds in the east, and more importantly, what I have never been able to see even with the glass candle.”

He was, overall, a very good master of whisperers. “The question is”, Rhaegar said, beginning to pace, “why he would do this. The answer seems obvious, of course – in order to take power on the Iron Islands, and – one would assume – out of sadistic enjoyment.” After what she'd seen, Dany didn't doubt the second point. “But – why now, and why in a way he seemed so sure we would see? Did he know _we_ would see, or at least I, or was it enough that anyone would? It is plain that this was a provocation – and a clever one at that, as we can hardly ignore it.”

“Will he declare independence like his brother once did?”, Aegon asked, arm around the clearly shaken Rhae. “Or appear here to swear his fealty, all the while pretending that Lord Theon and Lady Gysella died in some other manner? Both options would seem like obvious mistakes. As their last rebellion has shown, the Iron Islands are far from capable of withstanding the force we could bring against them, and we did not even have dragons we could ride back then.”

“Perhaps he is mad”, Dany suggested. “I mean – of course he is, but mad in the foolish way.” _I am your god, say your prayer_ , he'd kept telling the poor girl.

“He must be”, Jae agreed. “At least if he plans to rebel against us. I am sure we could turn Pyke into a pile of rubble with one dragon alone; do to him what the Conqueror once did to Harren the Black.”

Elia moved over to the table, the golden threads of her robe glimmering beautifully. “That would be the obvious consequence”, she said. “Too obvious, do you not think?”

“We cannot let this slide, of course”, Lyanna pointed out. “At least not if it becomes public. If it does not – he is a kinslayer. The gods will be sure to punish him.”

“I believe we just heard what he thinks of the gods”, Aegon said, and Lyanna shrugged.

“That hardly matters to them. Besides, I did not mean to suggest that we would not help them.”

This proposal was met with dark smiles all around. “Gods, yes”, Rhae said, flicking through Marwyn's parchments. Despite many questioning looks, she didn't elaborate.

“It is true we must learn all we can”, Rhaegar concluded, looking at each of them in turn. “Prayer and sorcery; gossip and spies. By the time we learn of his next step, we must know more about this man.” He ran a hand through his hair, which actually looked like gold and silver in this light, and now seemed more annoyed than appalled. “Once we formally learn of Lord Theon's death, there will also be the small council to contend with, and Lady Asha's fate to decide.”

“Do you not wish to reconsider my suggestion regarding your Hand, my love?”, Elia asked, sitting down next to her daughter. “If here were to die a sad yet unsurprising death, you could replace him with Lord Connington.”

The king shook his head. “Now Ser Gerold has passed, it would seem like too strange of a coincidence.”

“Lord Arryn has done nothing wrong”, Lyanna announced, walking towards their husband and ruffling Jae's hair in passing. “I pray he finds peace.”

_In Daenerys' study_

After that, they all tried to return to sleep, though Dany was convinced that she wasn't the only one who couldn't. Once the sun had finally risen and the worst of what they'd seen during the night had become less disturbing, however, she got to work.

In her case, this meant letters. The Sealord of Braavos himself, though he was a bit of a dolt, and she addressed another letter to his wife as well to a number of magisters and some of the more powerful keyholders. More magisters (or, often, their relatives) from Pentos and Myr, though Dany didn't even ask Nedarro Dagareon because she was quite certain that the first magister would have heard of her little adventure with the Golden Company by now.

After considering for a heartbeat, she also decided on writing to Daario Naharis. Though Dany wasn't certain if the message would reach him nor that he could read, she thought it was worth a try as a sellsword might have a specific kind of knowledge. A shame she couldn't turn to Lysono Maar, who had truly seemed exceedingly competent to her.

She thought about this further, taking her time in cutting another quill. She could't contact him at the Golden Company; couldn't write to Dagareon or Marea Pandaerys, even though the latter would have known him. But what of their daughter? She was resentful of her parents for betrothing her to a man she didn't want to wed, and had seemed to like Dany well enough.

So she wrote a message to her, too, and to Lady Lyesse as well. She had to had least try to hear from someone in Lys.

_In the Red Keep's sept_

_Rhaenys_

“Let none enter”, she reminded their great-uncle Lewyn, who replied to the command with half a nod and half a shrug. All the knights of the Kingsguard were well-accustomed to the royal family's particular interests, but it was essentially impossible to shock Lewyn.

Sarella helped her set up the ritual. They rolled away the heavy carpet covering the floor of the sept, revealing the seven-pointed star underneath (the king's work, of course). Her cousin lit the sandalwood incense and scattered the floor with lavender, bergamot, and (wearing gloves) poison kisses while Rhaenys dressed herself in a cloak of purple velvet; possibly the most expensive garment she owned. The princess donned jewellery inlaid with amethysts, held a crow's feather in one hand, and carefully placed a few drops of quicksilver on the statue of the Crone.

She was used to getting into the necessary state of mind, though it helped that Sarella added a few pieces of black bark from Qarth to the brazier. Rhaenys knelt before the Crone praying, staring into the light of Her lantern until she _became_ the Wise Lady; until she _was_ Her Who Lights the Path.

From here, She could see. The statues of the other six faces of God; the princess' body slumped below Her, Sarella Sand sitting in the middle of the seven-pointed star in a trance nearly as intense. She could have looked out, now; through the castle and beyond, but where She wanted to look was back.

She didn't need the wisdom She possessed to know that Euron Crow's Eye wouldn't be found near the Seven. He'd been to septs before, however; those erected by Westerosi sailors in foreign lands, both to recruit and to blaspheme.

It wasn't difficult to tell he thought himself near the Stranger, though while he'd sent many to Him, the Stranger wasn't evil. The Crow's Eye was.

She saw him kill and rape, pillage and burn. She saw the pleasure he took from it, and how he enjoyed even more to violate minds instead of bodies.

She also saw the things he said about gods, and how his deeds were aimed at them. Every sin was committed with purpose; with the intent of sinning, and followed by an almost eager wait for a reprisal that never came.

Not yet, anyway, She thought. Not yet.

_Outside White Sword Tower_

_Aegon_

“To call him dangerous would be an understatement”, Ser Jaime said while they watched Loras and Ser Renly ready themselves for another bout of sparring. “I heard it all from my cousins and dear old Uncle Kevan. It was Euron who set the Westerlands' fleet on fire to start his brother's rebellion, his own ships appearing out of nowhere in the black of night.” His green eyes were fixed on Loras, examining every movement with the critical gaze of a masterful fighter. “After we had taken Pyke, some of the men we had captured suggested that he may have been behind his father's death as well. I cannot tell Your Grace if that is true or not, but I would hardly be surprised.”

Aegon nodded, then watched as Loras deftly disarmed Ser Renly and brought him to his knees.

“A squire besting his knight”, Ser Jaime commented. “A rare sight. I would imagine the Tyrell boy is usually the one kneeling.”

The prince didn't deem it necessary to reply. Jaime Lannister of all people was in no position to point out illicit affairs.

Instead, he turned to Ser Arthur, who had also ignored Jaime's remark. “Is there anything to add, ser?”

He'd by now talked to most of those who were in the Red Keep and had fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion. The picture they painted of Euron was uniformly alarming.

“Nothing you do not know, my prince. Every single one of his men died before we could question them, though I could not tell you how we might have done so – their corpses were all missing a tongue, and I doubt they were able to read and write. Even still, we saw them take their own lives rather than being captured.” All three of them followed yet another fight, also noting that his great-uncle Lewyn approached. “Those who _he_ had captured were never the same afterwards. Some of our men were driven to complete madness, not to speak of the women he'd stolen at Lannisport.”

“Are any still alive?”, Aegon asked. “Men or women.”

Ser Arthur shook his head. “Not that I would know of, and if they are, we would not be able to reach them. But many died not long after, in one way or another.”

Loras and Ser Renly tumbled to the ground, both having lost their swords. Aegon did his best to ignore Ser Jaime's smirk as they tried to end the fight with (blunt) dirks. “Would the both of you not agree it is time Loras was knighted?”

Just then, his friend gained the upper hand, pressing the blade between the gaps in Ser Renly's armour. “Perhaps”, Ser Jaime admitted. “Though one hears Your Grace would like for him to join our ranks.”

“That may be a good thing”, Ser Arthur said, which was excellent to hear. “He would not be the youngest to ever join the Kingsguard, of course.”

By then, Lewyn had reached them. “Sarella sends me”, he explained, looking at Aegon. “The princess has chosen to remain in the sept for the time being, following her prayer.”

In other words: Rhae had exhausted herself to the point of losing consciousness, and Sarella didn't want to draw attention to this by having her brought back to her rooms.

By the gods, she had to be more careful, Aegon thought as he curtly excused himself and made for the sept. Despite all of her assurances, the idea that she may one day go too far never left his mind.

_In the godswood_

_Jaehaerys_

He watched as the squid's blue blood dropped onto the weirwood's roots. A strange sacrifice to make to the old gods, but appropriate – and the tree drank it up all the same.

He placed his hand on the red face. _Gods of this land_ , he thought with intent, _from the shores of the Summer Sea to the Land of Always Winter, you command and know all. I beg of you, oh gods, to show me what you will of one who may wish harm to me and my own, and who has committed the grave sin of kinslaying. Show me what you know of Euron Crow's Eye, of House Greyjoy._

He could feel his gods. As always, they weren't as strong at the Red Keep as they were further north; in places such as Winterfell or even beyond the Wall. Still, his mother said that it had once been much worse, before she'd wed his father and become queen not long after.

 _Prince_ , the gods greeted him, faintly. _Dragon prince; son of Stark. Our blood._

A statement as much as a demand. Having already anticipated this, Jaehaerys cut himself the way he had so many times before. Both his parents' left arms were covered in scars, and his wasn't much better at this point.

 _The kraken_ , the gods continued while his blood merged with the weirwood sap, _the enemy_. He saw a flash of the face the glass candle had already shown, and felt how the vague sense of dread he'd been carrying all day only intensified.

 _What is his power?_ , he asked. There hadn't been anything in what he'd seen him do that was outside the abilities of a normal man – except for the way he had seemed to look at them, and how it had shaken Rhae.

Then something changed. The presence of the gods remained, but it wasn't all. _Jaehaerys_ , a voice said, accompanied by the image of a corpse in a tree.

Oh. _Bloodraven._ He wasn't sure why he was surprised. The man lived – if you could call that living – in a weirwood, after all; of course he could communicate through them. _I spoke to Brandon._

 _I know. The boy is on his way._ He did feel uneasy about having sent his little cousin down that path, but Bran truly wasn't the first to live by the gods' demands. _What of Euron Greyjoy?_

The prince repeated the images of last night in his mind. What followed was... silence? This was somewhat unusual, even if it didn't last long.

 _A mistake_ , Bloodraven finally said. _A grave, terrible mistake_. Then he showed Jaehaerys, and what he saw made him want to both laugh and weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn't read the prequel: In it, the heart tree in the Red Keep's godswood (an oak) slowly turns into a weirwood after a good amount of blood sacrifice. I'm sure that's not how it would work in canon, where weirwoods seem to be a species of tree, but I liked the idea.


	12. Court IV

_A few days later_

_Rhaenys_

“To summarise”, Jae had concluded, “Bloodraven once believed Euron could be the next three-eyed crow, but he was ultimately not suitable and went mad with power. He is a warg, close to a greenseer, and furious at the gods – any gods – for not giving him the abilities he had been promised.”

It had taken all of them a heartbeat to digest the story he'd told. “That is in line”, Rhaenys had finally said, “with what I have seen. He sins and blasphemes with purpose – not because there is something he wishes to do that also happens to be regarded as a sin, but with the specific intent to spite the gods. He is someone who has attempted to get the gods' attention and failed despite his monstrous acts. I believe that this will only lead him to acting _more_ monstrously in the future, as we already saw through the glass candle.”

This had been several days ago. Since then, they'd attempted to gather any more information they could, waited for replies (not that any answers from across the Narrow Sea would reach them soon), and tried to ascertain what Euron might do next.

Then there was also the inconvenient fact that the Night's Watch and wildlings Jae had brought there were waiting for his return. The king sent out Eddard Stark, whose ship to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had departed the day after they'd learned of the murders on Pyke.

Rhaenys was taking lessons from Melisandre. She didn't doubt that the priestess still hoped to eventually convert her, but even those attempts were useful. She learned much about the faith of R'hllor, and even more of the various useful things Melisandre had picked up over what had to be many decades of life all over Essos. Glamours, some divination, the application of ingredients even Marwyn had never heard of – though she was most looking forward to gaining enough of the priestess' trust to learn at least the foundations of shadowbinding. The archmaester knew of it, that was true, but Rhaenys was certain that an actual mage from Asshai would have a far greater knowledge.

It was during one of their lessons that she was fetched by Ser Adrian and brought to the small council chamber. Everyone was there – the actual small council, all of the Kingsguard, her entire family including Viserys, as well as Uncle Oberyn, Arianne, her father's old friend Lord Connington, Tyrion Lannister, and Lyanna's semi-official sworn shield Dacey Mormont. Seeing this, Rhaenys didn't need to be told that they'd received a raven from Pyke.

“Euron Greyjoy”, the king announced, looking sombre with the scroll in his hand, “signed this message, and I quote, ‘the Third of His Name Since the Grey King, King of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind’ – as well as Lord Reaper of Pyke, of course, and Captain of the _Silence._ He declares that he was chosen by a kingsmoot. He does not go into detail on how he explains his nephew's death, though we have heard rumours that Lady Gysella killed Lord Theon out of jealousy, and Euron avenged him.” Her father leaned back, letting the scroll drop onto the table. “He declares the Iron Islands as independent, and vows to cover the green lands in fire and blood.”

Dany snorted as they heard their House words used like that, and Viserys' face showed a sneer. Exchanging glances, it was clear that all of their family felt the same disgust.

“The foolishness”, Lord Arryn rasped. “The ironborn stood no chance during their last rebellion, and we are even stronger now. An easy war to win, Your Grace.”

“Yes.” Her father was staring down at the scroll. “I cannot stop wondering _why_. If Euron had simply murdered his nephew, turned to me with some excuse for his death, and usurped the lordship of the Iron Islands from Lady Asha – I could understand why he would think that to be possible. But _this_? He cannot possibly believe that he can win.”

But perhaps he did, Rhaenys thought. She didn't know how, nor why, but Euron's actions made a certain amount of sense to her based on what she knew of him. The self-importance, the megalomania, the heretical _need_ for greatness... She caught her father's gaze across the table, and saw him nod slightly; acknowledging that they would speak on this later on.

“That being said”, the king continued, “there is no way for us but war. This is treason, and I do not doubt that he would attack sooner or later. Lord Baratheon, Lord Velaryon; you know what to do. Lady Dacey, you must hurry north; Bear Island is vulnerable as it is, and the same counts for the rest of the western coast. Lord Lannister, Lord Tyrell, you must return to the Westerlands and the Reach to prepare your defences. Lord Blackwood, you will ride for Riverrun to warn Lord Tully. Ser Barristan, I believe that this coming war may prove as an excellent opportunity to find your new sworn brother, so do not hasten in this regard.”

All mumbled their consent, grim but not desperate. Then there was a second of silence before Arianne asked: “What of Lady Asha?”

On this, there was disagreement, particularly between Lord Arryn on one side, and Arianne and Oberyn on the other. The king let the discussion develop for a while before announcing that the lady was, in fact, waiting just outside the small council chamber.

Lady Asha seemed uncertain as she was bid inside. Rhaenys thought she had to know _something_ had happened, considering that a great number of the most powerful people in the realm were convened, and quite uniformly staring at her.

Despite the fact that he, too, had just argued for her death, Lord Blackwood gallantly vacated his seat so Lady Asha could sit at the foot of the table.

“My lady.” The king's tone was gentle, and it was Aegon who strolled around the table to hand her a cup of Dornish Red. “It pains me that I must bring you this news at all, and even more so that it is under such inappropriate circumstances.” He glanced at the large crowd filling the small council chamber.

She sat straight and expressionless as she took a sip to steel herself, and Rhaenys saw Lady Asha's eyes quickly dart towards Arianne, who looked quite obviously sad. “I take it some tragedy has befallen my family?”, Asha suggested.

“So to speak.” Though he sounded and most likely _was_ sympathetic, Rhaenys new that her father was also very carefully studying her reaction. “There is no way to make this any less painful, so I will tell you the plain truth, my lady. Your uncle Euron has murdered your brother and good-sister, who was with child. He has now declared himself king and sworn to wage war against the Seven Kingdoms.”

Asha Greyjoy stared at him for a heartbeat, then drained her cup with her head thrown back, blinking at the ceiling. “What is dead may never die”, she said. “And I had expected Theon to come back and take me home.”

“That had been agreed upon, yes”, Rhaenys' mother confirmed, sitting to the king's right as Lyanna was by his left. “Of course, my lady is aware that this is no longer an option.”

“Well, yes.” Noticing her searching glance, Rhaenys saw Arianne slide the flagon of wine towards her. “Your Grace. I would rather serve as a dragon's supper than be given to dear Nuncle Euron.”

She thought there was something appreciative in Jae's eyes as he leaned on the backrest of Dany's seat. Rhaenys couldn't glance at Aegon, who was standing behind her, but she knew that he'd approve of Asha's assessment just as much.

“My lady of Greyjoy”, Lord Arryn said, the chain of his office clanking against the table as he leaned forward. “You will understand that you were taken as a ward of the Crown after the last rebellion to ensure your House's good behaviour. The terms were clear – should they rebel again, you are to die. Now, they are rebelling again.”

Lady Asha had refilled her cup. “By all means”, she said, not looking at Lord Arryn, “my king – have my head; it is your right. Though I must correct myself to state that I would prefer one of your children's Valyrian swords to being ripped apart by their mounts. However, I should mention that you would be doing my uncle an enormous favour by killing Balon Greyjoy's last living child.”

“A daughter”, Lord Arryn said, also speaking directly to the king. “No woman has ever ruled the Iron Islands. By now, it is not a matter of putting a new Greyjoy in place, but of ending their line entirely.”

“It is true that my people do not place much trust in the leadership of women”, Lady Asha argued. “Though I am one with a Dornish education.”

“Your Grace”, Arianne cut in. “There is no point in her death. Asha is the rightful Lady of the Iron Islands, and I do not doubt her loyalty. I, as the heir to Sunspear and Dorne and the representative of my father, vouch for Lady Greyjoy.”

Rhaenys saw how Oberyn and her mother exchanged a look, the queen nodding almost imperceptibly. This told her all she needed to know – of course, the decision had been taken long before this group had been convened.

“I do not wish for the death of an innocent”, Lord Velaryon now declared, standing along with all the other men who weren't either old or the king himself, “and it is clear that her ladyship had no part in her uncle's treason. I would suggest we trust the Princess Arianne, who knows her better than any of us. I believe it is true, as well, that to eliminate a strong claimant to the Seastone Chair would be foolish – however, we are not speaking of Dorne, nor of any other place that has experienced a lady ruling in her own right. We are speaking of the Iron Islands. Ten years ago, many of us stood in the Great Hall of Pyke, considering the future of those islands. We all agreed that Lady Alannys could not serve as her son's regent because the ironborn would never accept it, and chose Lord Harlaw instead.” He looked towards the subject of their discussion, who hadn't touched her second cup of wine after all. “There is no reason for Lady Asha to die, but we should not pretend that she could rule the Iron Islands on her own; no matter how capable she may be.”

 _On her own_. The suggestion of finding her a husband was clear – also to Asha, who looked mildly disgusted and was about to open her mouth, but was shot down by a look from Arianne.

“Are there any further comments?”, the king asked. All knew that once he spoke, the decision would be final; this the last chance to bring forward any opposing views. Not that anyone of their family would ever do so, at least not in front of outsiders, and most of the other attendees held it the same way. Next to the small council, all assembled were her father's closest allies.

Grand Maester Agrivane, however, felt the need to chime in before it was too late. “The situation is clear, Your Grace. Lady Asha was taken as a ward to ensure the loyalty of House Greyjoy. If she does not lose her life now, the Iron Throne will lose its credibility.”

Her father looked around the room once more, then nodded. “I thank all of you for sharing your views. Taking them into consideration, I have made my decision.”

If she hadn't spotted the nod between her mother and Oberyn, Rhaenys might have been concerned. She didn't _want_ Lady Asha to die.

Neither did Dany, she could see from the way she carefully studied her brother, looking for any sign of what he might do. This became unnecessary as he rose, however, and walked a few paces away from the table. “Come, my lady”, he said. “Kneel and swear your fealty. Pyke and the Iron Islands are yours by rights, and as your king, I will ensure you have them.”

“Are you afraid?”, her father asked. They were alone, walking in her gardens.

Rhaenys pondered the question. “I am concerned.” She had just told him that she was certain that Euron would at least attempt to do something that was sufficiently large-scale and horrific to gain the attention he craved, even if she didn't know what this would be, nor what it meant for them.

“I should be telling you to be afraid”, the king said. “I am – for you and the others. But I have never been afraid for myself, so I suppose I cannot expect you to be.”

They went past the area where she and Aegon liked to hold feasts. “Then I will not be”, she said. “And how could I? I will be atop Vēzos. It is you I will fear for, and Aegon. Viserys, too.”

The king hummed. They were quiet as Rhaenys unlocked a gate between high hedges, leading them to the most private part of her gardens – where rare and often dangerous flowers grew, some of them in a small house made of glass. “To love is to fear”, her father said then, looking around. “Which is the reason I often wonder why I have ever permitted you this garden. You could kill yourself at least a dozen different ways without digesting anything.”

“It is because you have never been able to deny me”, she said, taking a basket, slipping on a pair of silken gloves, and beginning to collect the plants she wanted. “And there are exactly six-and-ten ways to die here from touch alone, so please do keep away from everything.”

She heard him snort. “As Your Grace commands.”

Rhaenys collected various plants she planned to dry and gift to Tyene Sand, who knew more of their uses than she ever would. “While this is indiscrete and frankly uncomfortable”, her father then said, “I must ask. Are you still drinking moon tea?”

She cut the leaves off a rare plant from the Forest of Qohor. “I have not since the wedding”, Rhaenys confessed. “But I could – it has not been so long that it would be dangerous. If you believe that a pregnancy may be a problem in the upcoming war, then I will.”

“It could be”, the king sighed. “Speak with Marwyn first, and see if he agrees that there would be no danger. It would complicate things significantly if it affected your ability to have children later on, as it likely did for Lysa.”

Surprised, she rose. “What happened to Lysa?” Rhaenys couldn't imagine Viserys letting moon tea anywhere near her, considering that it had been difficult enough for them to have children.

The king, meanwhile, appeared bewildered that she wasn't aware. “I had expected Viserys to speak of this to everyone he could. You should also know that Lysa is with child once more, so there may be hope.”

Then he explained, and Rhaenys had to suppress a snigger. “Forgive me; this is not funny at all – but it also is. So much for _Family, Duty, Honour_.”

“See if Viserys laughs.” Despite her warning not to touch anything, her father plucked an orange flower from the Summer Isles, knowing it to be harmless. “He sees it as a slight, and I am inclined to agree, though we truly have much better things to do than to plot against old and frail Lord Tully. There is always the danger of Viserys taking it out on Ser Edmure, of course.”

“That does sound like him.” Suspecting that the flower he'd taken was for her mother, Rhaenys cut a moonbloom off the stem and passed it to him. “For Lyanna. I likely should have known this, but I leave the court gossip to Aegon. He is much better at it.”

“You may want to ask him to fill you in more often. You will be queen, Rhaenys; you cannot entirely ignore these things, even if you would much rather focus your attentions on the higher mysteries.”

“Yes, Father.” He was right, she knew, even she didn't find most gossip entertaining enough to pay it much mind. “He did recently tell me about Ser Jaime and the Lady Baratheon, which I will admit was a shock.”

“Ah, yes.” He regarded his two flowers. “It is quite convenient for us, as Lady Cersei has been made aware of our knowledge of the matter several years ago, and has been on her best behaviour ever since. That being said, I believe it is just slightly hypocritical for you to judge her, unpleasant as she may be.”

He plucked a few dragon's breath off the ground – they grew like weeds in the Red Keep. “I do not judge her for this”, Rhaenys said. “Not for loving her brother, at the very least. At the same time, I could.” The king selected the most beautiful of the red flowers and tucked it behind her ear, as he'd been doing for years. Common though they were, they remained Rhaenys' favourite. “Do different rules not apply to us, Father? Even the Faith says this much.”

The king smirked, looking around her garden with all its deadly beauty. “The Faith teaches this because we shaped it that way, which I suppose means quite a lot in itself.” They both looked up when the shadows above them changed, and they could see Rhovio and Dāero soaring through the sky. “Fetch Aegon and join them”, he said. “It may be one of the last times you are able to do this in times of peace.”


	13. Lannisport I

_On the_ Pride of Driftmark _, the 8 th moon of the year 299 AC_

_Aegon_

He looked out over the royal fleet – as much as he could see anything at all.

The night was dark, and so were the hulls and sails around them. They were still permitted lighting for now, though they would try to limit it as much as possible once the signal came.

There would be time until then, however. Looking up to the starry sky, he couldn't _quite_ see and could neither hear it, but he was sure that Dany was circling on Dāero somewhere up there.

Loras was glowering in the vague direction of _Lord Steffon_. “I should be there”, he stated. “A squire with his knight.”

“You could have taken that up with your lord father”, Aegon pointed out, and Loras spat into the sea.

“I tried.”

The Tyrells' idea – and one he didn't think to be too terrible – was that placing Loras with him on the _Pride of Driftmark_ might lead to a situation that would only strengthen the case for his joining the Kingsguard.

“Your Grace”, Aegon's own squire called out. Alyn Connington stood in the door leading beneath the sterncastle. “Lord Velaryon asks for you.”

And so, the prince obeyed. On board, he was Velaryon's second – while Viserys had got his own ship to captain (the formidable _Queen Rhaella_ ), the king had decided that Aegon's complete inexperience would have made that a bad idea indeed. He agreed, and putting him directly behind the master of ships was sufficiently prestigious to send the right kind of message. This was only amplified by the fact that his father was at Lannisport, meaning that Lord Velaryon had command over the royal fleet.

Prince Lewyn and Ser Jaime awaited them in the captain's cabin. Between them, Loras, and Blackfyre at his hip, Aegon was relatively confident regarding his chance of survival. As long as he didn't end up drowning, that was.

The glass candle glimmered dimly on Velaryon's table. “There is still time”, the master of ships stated, sharing Aegon's assessment. “The Iron Fleet was last spotted near Kayce.”

Euron was headed for Lannisport. It was the closest major target to the Iron Islands, making his choice unsurprising, hence here they were – the city's defences ready under the command of the king, his aunt and siblings on Casterly Rock with their dragons, and Aegon with the royal fleet, waiting to cut off the ironborns' escape into the sea as their ships went up in flames.

So far, it sounded easy. This was precisely what worried Aegon, and, he knew, his father.

“Are you ready for your first battle, Your Grace?”, Ser Jaime asked, the usual silent mockery behind his eyes. “I will admit it is not pretty, but it does present its own thrill.”

Aegon was not, in fact, thrilled at the prospect. “There is no choice but to be ready”, he replied. “I can only hope that if I do badly, the fault will be seen as lying with you and your sworn brothers.”

“Your royal father is never eager for bloodshed, either”, his great-uncle Lewyn said. “Yet, he is quite good at it.”

So he had heard. “There will be glory to be found tonight”, Lord Velaryon declared, eyes darting back and forth between the glass candle and the map it illuminated. “Especially for young men like you, my prince and my lords. In the end, we should be thanking the ironborn for this opportunity to prove ourselves before the war for the dawn.”

“Did you not listen?”, Loras asked as they'd moved on to Aegon's cabin. Alyn was strapping him into his black armour, the weight of the plate comfortingly familiar despite of what it heralded. “ _Glory_. All three of us will soon be able to make a name for ourselves.”

“I am the Prince of Dragonstone”, he said, lifting his arm to give Alyn better access. “My birth alone gave me a place in the histories.”

Of course, he knew that wasn't all. He _was_ the Prince of Dragonstone; the future king, and as such, it was vital that he did well in the fight – an heir's first battle could determine the fate of an entire dynasty. He had to be brave and bold, but also really couldn't die. Not only because he didn't want to, but also because of the mess it would create, not to speak of the effect it would have on the others.

“Well, I am a third son”, Loras said. “I _will_ prove my worth in this battle, most likely by saving your skin.”

“I would hope so.” He glanced at Alyn with his red hair and sparse stubble. “You are a first son, too”, the prince observed. “Please tell me I am not the only one torn between the need to impress and the responsibility to survive.”

“That was well-worded, Your Grace.” Alyn carefully tied the shining vambrace in place. “Worthy of the account you will write of the battle when it is done.” To be fair, Aegon did intend to do just that. “And yes, of course I know I must live through the night. That being said, I will not do my House dishonour by showing any sort of cowardice. My lord father has always been ready to give his life for the king's. I will not shame him by failing to protect you.” He pulled the leather strings tight.

The prince looked at them both. _Boys_ , he thought, even though Loras was his elder. But Aegon was a knight and a married man – and their prince; their future king.

Blackfyre was waiting, sharp as it had been for many centuries before, when the Conqueror himself had wielded it. “You are my squire”, Aegon said. “You are both squires, as well as my royal father's subjects. It is I who shall protect you.”

_Casterly Rock_

_Jaehaerys_

“There has been enough talk of battle”, Lord Lannister declared, refilling all their cups. “I do not wish to contemplate it until forced to do so. How is married life treating you, princess?”

Rhae leaned back in her chair. “Excellently, my lord. Which, as you know, is no surprise.”

“I am glad to hear you say that.” Tyrion drank deep. “And you, good prince? I hope the next royal wedding comes soon. I quite enjoyed the last one.”

Jaehaerys looked up to the ceiling as if he could see Dany through it. “When the time is right. After this war, I would assume.” Now that he knew he was betrothed to her, he wasn't particularly eager for the actual date. They already behaved as if they were wed, after all. “What about you, my lord? It is past time you found a wife.”

Tyrion smiled in a way he often did. He had been the first person to make Jaehaerys understand that a smile could be deeply unhappy. “But who will wed me, Your Grace? I have witnessed and participated in enough depravity to know that there are women drawn to the grotesque, but their fathers never seem to share this attraction.”

Rhae pointedly glanced around the hall they were in. It was so large their voices echoed, long shadows drawn by gilded chandeliers. Suits of equally golden armour lined the walls where they weren't hung with splendid tapestries, while the massive table they sat at was set with gold just like the door leading outside to a wide terrace overlooking the Sunset Sea. “Many a father must be _very_ attracted to having the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West for a good-son.”

“It must be a difficult decision indeed.” Tyrion emptied his cup and refilled it promptly. “I suppose that even my frankly immense wealth and considerable power do not quite make up for”, he pointed at himself in an all-encompassing gesture, “this.”

Jaehaerys met Rhae's eyes and knew they were thinking the same. They'd grown up with Tyrion, at least until he'd come off age around the time of the last Greyjoy Rebellion. They both knew that: “There have been several offers of betrothal for you. Good matches, too.” Small dowries aside, but he had no need of those.

Tyrion shot him a dark look. “I would much prefer a bride who does not recoil when she looks at me, but perhaps that is too much to ask. Either way, you two are lousy drinking companions, so much so that I would now rather speak of our impending violent deaths.” He reached for the wine again, but Rhae snatched the crystal flagon away, darting out of her seat in a clank of armour as she strode a few paces away from the table.

“Rhaenys, _no_ ”, their host cried out, voice pleading. “You must at least allow me to drown my sorrows.”

“Tyrion”, she said in the same voice she had once used to scold her brothers, “yes. There will be a battle to fight, and plenty of time for self-pity in the aftermath.”

When it looked like he might try to dive under the table and grab the flagon, Rhae threw it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Tyrion stared at her. “You are an awful guest, Your Grace.”

“But a great friend”, Jaehaerys cut in. “Do you wish to die by drunkenly stumbling into a rusty blade? As things stand, Ser Kevan of all people is your heir. We cannot abide by this.”

“I am touched by the Crown's concern.” Tyrion mournfully stared at the pool of red staining the wall, then hopped off his chair. “Well, I shall armour myself, though I stand no chance of cutting as imposing of a figure as either of you.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes while Tyrion waddled out of the hall, then sat back on a chair by Jaehaerys' side. They were both in armour already; the best plate the known world had to offer, black with the occasional ruby accent. “I do worry for him”, Rhae admitted once their host was out of earshot. “Fighting is not his strongest suit.”

“He will have the best knights in the Westerlands around him.” Jaehaerys glanced to where their helmets and swords were waiting, Longclaw and Dark Sister ready to serve their purpose. “And you will be Visenya tonight.”

His sister raised her gauntleted hand to brush back her hair, then remembered it was braided tightly against her head. “I dreamt of her not long after the wedding, and consecrated Dark Sister with my blood the next day. She has a thirst for it, as they claim Daemon once said, and it had been a long time.”

“There will be more than enough blood tonight.” Out of Dany and his siblings, Jaehaerys knew he was the only one who'd seen real fighting, though almost exclusively against the dead. “The gods will be fed well.”

Rhae hummed, looking at the door to the terrace where Dany should land upon her return. “And do you not think that might mean something? The power of blood, and so much spilled at once – a battlefield must be an excellent source for sorcery.”

They looked at each other, then. Both were disquieted by that realisation, considering who it was they would fight.

“Well, that is something to keep in mind”, he said. “Father said we could stray from the plan if needed.” Though the first priority was to identify and burn Euron Greyjoy's ship, which had the potential of ending things quickly.

She closed her hand around his; a strange feeling with both wearing gauntlets. “If we must stray, we will. But be careful, Jae – men are not wights. They have minds of their own.”

_Above the Sunset Sea_

_Daenerys_

Despite the harsh winds and thin air this high up in the sky, Dany didn't feel cold. Dāero's body under her provided all the warmth one might need.

She'd been watching the Iron Fleet for hours. There might have been something to be said for the three dragonriders taking turns, but Dāero's black scales brought a clear advantage when one tried to secretly fly in the night, so here she was. Dany didn't mind – there was nearly nothing as good as flying, after all.

She'd taken the occasional detour, confident to be infinitely quicker than the ships. She'd seen the royal fleet a few miles away, had watched the last of Lannisport's preparations being finalised (and flown low there, as per Rhaegar's instruction, since seeing the dragon could only boost morale), had dipped further south to find the Redwyne fleet near Crakehall – likely unnecessary, but a precaution in case everything went terribly wrong.

She'd noticed how there was a second, larger fleet of longships quite far behind the first, presumably meant to trap and surprise the royal forces. That was good to know. What would have been even better to find out was which of the ships was Euron's – they knew that _Silence_ was a galley with black sails, but she'd stayed as far away as Rhaegar had commanded, and couldn't make out any details. Dany had spotted several ships that might fit the description, which she thought was likely a conscious choice on Greyjoy's part. After all, when one brought a fleet against dragons, it wasn't the best of ideas to make the flagship's identity that obvious.

The idea of taking the initiative was, of course, tempting. Just like Rhaenys and Jae, she'd been practicing flying a number of manoeuvres for years. This situation called for a steep descent, a quick gust of flame, and an immediate retreat into the skies. The enemy wouldn't see her coming until it was too late – again and again.

But no. Rhaegar had commanded her to remain undetected, and she understood his reasoning. After all, this entire battle wouldn't only be about gaining a military victory and making this war a quick one, but also about making a point. It would be hard to show the Crown protecting its subjects and crushing its enemies if it happened far out on the Sunset Sea.

No, this would need to be as clear of a statement as the Field of Fire. Rhaegar and the queens had spoken to them about this matter in serious, sympathetic tones – it would be no easy thing to do, unleashing so much destruction, but if all was settled now they would be able to focus better on the war that truly mattered.

Dany had only ever killed one man. Strickland had been right there before her, which wouldn't apply to the men on those ships she would fire. Was that better or worse? She wasn't sure.

She did one more round. Dany wished she could easily land by their own fleet to speak with Viserys and Aegon on their respective ships, but at least the glass candle would make it possible for her to warn them of the second contingent that would follow the first part of the Iron Fleet.

Then she turned back north and saw that it was time: The first of the Greyjoy ships had passed the rock formation she'd been told to look out for.

She turned Dāero eastwards to the shore, where all soon came into view. The fires of Lannisport, its population partly evacuated to the countryside. The walls surrounding the port swarming with activity and the masses of fighters behind them – she flew down, letting Dāero spit flame into the air. This was met with cheers from the optimistic defenders, and would tell Rhaegar that the moment had come.

Then she flew up to the castle, where the defensive preparations were rather muted. The Rock was far too high for any ship to pose a threat, and if anyone wanted to attack it from the sea, they would have to get past Lannisport first.

Dāero landed on the terrace. Dany unfastened her chains as quickly as she could and ripped off her helmet, running inside. She found Rhae already unveiling the glass candle, undoubtedly having heard her land, while Jae was strapping Longclaw to his hip and Tyrion stared at her as if he might be sick.

Aegon heard them immediately and was in Lord Velaryon's company, which was ideal. Dany told them of the second fleet, estimating both contingents' size and distance. The master of ships didn't seem too disturbed by the news.

“Are we all ready?”, Jae asked, helmet in hand, and then shook his head. “Do not answer that; none of you. There is no choice either way.”

“How badly would it reflect on me if I simply remained up here?”, Tyrion asked. “I will not be of use to anyone in battle; we all know this.”

Rhae grabbed his hand, dragging him outside with strides that were too wide for him. “I thought you could not stand your kin. If you do not lead tonight, you may as well invite them to take the Rock from you.”

The terrace wasn't large enough for all their dragons. They watched Rhae climb Vēzos with Tyrion, who she would leave down behind the walls before the battle started.

Jae looked at Dany. “This will be horrific and dangerous.”

“Certainly.” Then she grabbed his head and kissed him hard, breastplates crashing into each other. “Do me a favour and stay in one piece.”

He held her by the shoulders. “I have killed an Other with a dagger; I believe I can handle a few would-be pirates from dragonback.”

Vēzos' strong haunches pushed the dragon into the sky. “Well, I have stolen a sword from a force of ten-thousand sellswords.” She placed a quick peck on his nose. “The Crow's Eye may believe himself a god, but we are Targaryens. He should tremble.”

Jae nodded, then pulled away and donned his helmet. Dany strode towards her mount – a quick visit to the defenders, and then it would be time to do what dragons were made for.


	14. Lannisport II

_Jaehaerys_

They'd visited those behind the city walls before taking to the skies. His father had the highest command, directly under him Oberyn, Jon Connington, and Lord Stannis – a tried and tested approach from the last Greyjoy Rebellion and the occasional fight against a lord unhappy with the requirements placed upon all to prepare for the war for the dawn. Two of the Sand Snakes were there; Obara and Sarella, as well as Ser Barristan, Ser Arthur, Lady Dacey and, now, Tyrion.

The mood of the defenders was, overall, high. As far as most of the fighters were concerned, this battle would be fought between the finest knights and most powerful lords of the Seven Kingdoms leading the combined forces of the Westerlands with reinforcements from the Riverlands and Reach, hid behind Lannisport's massive walls and (crucially) assisted by three dragons on one side – and a handful of ships on the other.

Jaehaerys couldn't stop to think of his brother as he ascended to the skies. Aegon was with the royal fleet, surely in safe hands with Lord Velaryon and two knights of the Kingsguard. Yet, he was in more danger than the rest of them; unable to merely fly off. He didn't like it.

The _Pride of Driftmark_ , he knew, would be flanked by Ser Renly's _Lord Steffon_ and Viserys' _Queen Rhaella_. Lady Asha herself was on the latter, having ultimately convinced the king that the argument to make her the ruler of the Iron Islands would be much stronger if she showed herself capable at sea – though he hadn't granted her a ship of her own, considering her relative inexperience.

The royal fleet would be moving towards Lannisport by now. So was the first contingent of Greyjoy ships.

He could see them from afar, this high up in the sky. The city was busy far below Rhovio's emerald wings, the harbour dark and deserted. Upon the walls, men in armour swarmed like ants, readying scorpions and trebuchets that had enough reach to aim at the docks. Vēzos and Dāero flew to either side of him, his sister and his aunt tiny figures in their saddles.

The enemy's fleet was coming closer, and quite quickly at that. Jaehaerys wasn't the seafaring type, but he'd overflown Blackwater Bay often enough to estimate that this was not exactly the speed of a trading galley.

The famous ironborn longships. There was a round edge to the horizon in the distance, only visible because that was where the stars stopped and the Sunset Sea began. Much closer than that he saw further lights in the ocean, dim but obviously concentrated in two approaching clusters: The second half of the Greyjoy ships that Dany had spotted coming in from the west, and the larger royal fleet nearing from the south.

He heard two mighty roars on either side, making his head spin towards the castle on its giant Rock. There, the beacon shone as their signal; lit in response to another down in the city – because it was hard to see something directly below them when on their dragons.

Jaehaerys raised his arm, faintly seeing both Rhae and Dany do the same. He placed his hand onto Rhovio's neck, thinking once more that his scales were infinitely thicker than any plate.

Then they surged forward. He could feel Rhovio's heat through his armour as they flew into their first battle; could feel a certain eagerness emitting from him like he hadn't since their first flight.

He gripped the horns on the dragon's neck as if the saddle wasn't enough to hold him in place. The Iron Fleet was quick, to be sure – but they couldn't quite fly. It wasn't long before they reached them; hundreds of ships stretching out below. Longships, mostly, with a few galleys in the midst.

One of them was likely _Silence_ , though he had no way of telling which. Jaehaerys looked towards the other dragons, and before he could further contemplate things, Dāero took a steep dive.

No choice but to follow. He gave the command and was next gripped by the strange euphoria of vertical descent; just like when they'd play (or practice) in different times. Rhovio was too large for him to feel much of the wind, though Jaehaerys could now just about see their target down the dragon's head.

The ironborn didn't wait to be slaughtered. They tried their best – stones fired from catapults reached them first, shortly followed by scorpion bolts. He could understand the impulse, and yet, to fire straight up was a terrible idea. Jaehaerys wasn't sure if the dragons even noticed either, as the projectiles lost much of their power and then simply dropped back onto those who'd fired them.

And then suddenly, after such a rapid descent he hadn't had time to think of anything but the ineffectiveness of those countermeasures, they were close enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw bright flame and said: “Dracarys.”

It hadn't been more than a whisper; a dry mouth mumbling into his helmet. But it was enough.

Blinding hot flame erupted, followed by faint screams. They had to move, he knew, immediately taking Rhovio back up with a spin or two.

Dāero was above them. Jaehaerys saw a stone fired from a catapult swatted away without notice by his tail; the projectile flying back down and perforating a sail.

Then they were out of reach and flew a diagonal curve so he could look down -

Out of the hundreds of ships, three burned brightly; the fire spreading quickly and seemingly unaffected by any attempts to quell it. The sails shone like beacons, illuminating how men jumped into the sea; some already burning themselves.

Yet, the ships were spaced far apart. Jaehaerys noticed that he was breathing heavily; that he leaned into the heat of Rhovio's body when they dove down once more.

With dragonflame, ships burned almost as well as wights. They aimed for the galleys in the middle of the Greyjoy fleet this time even though those spat heavier stones at them – heavy enough to hurt anything that wasn't as large as a house and had skin like Valyrian steel.

Was any of those ones even _Silence_? He had no idea. What he did know was that the command to burn it came easier the second time around; that there was a terrible beauty in lighting up the night in such a lethal way. That there truly was no time to think if they wanted to decimate the enemy's forces before they reached the harbour.

They didn't ascend all the way again; it wasn't necessary. They remained within reach, setting the Greyjoy fleet ablaze while all sorts of projectiles hit the dragons to no effect and their large bodies protected the much more vulnerable riders.

It was easy, and it felt _good_. Jaehaerys felt himself grinning, salty sweat dripping into his mouth as he fully understood how helpless the enemy was against them. He saw Vēzos' tail trash a mast in passing, Dāero set a scorpion bolt ablaze just before it fell back onto a deck, men running from Rhovio's flame as if there was any sort of escape on those boats.

Then he flew up, taking stock. Greyjoy, wherever he was, seemed to have wisely given the command for the ships to keep their distance from each other – though the first they'd set on fire were out of control now; brightly burning torches floating towards the others.

Most of the fleet, however, moved forward unharmed; always closer to Lannisport. And not far from them, it looked like the other two were set to meet.

_Aegon_

“Well.” They stood at the bow of the _Pride of Driftmark_ , just about able to pry their eyes away from the fiery spectacle by the bay to look at the ships coming straight at them. “I will admit I had not planned to meet them here, but that may be a good thing after all.” Lord Velaryon glanced at him. “Tell them to sound the attack, Your Grace.”

“Yes, my lord.” Aegon briskly turned back, repeating the order loudly, and the warhorns were blown.

Their fleet quickly took up the call. _Lord Steffon_ was to port, _Queen Rhaella_ starboard, the line continuing to both sides. He heard Aurane Waters repeat Viserys' commands to their archers, saw Ser Renly don his the helmet – a good idea, in fact, and one that his squire Alyn had thought off; running across the deck to stuff his own into Aegon's hands.

While his black armour made Aegon blend in with the night, Loras' silver and sapphires shone like the stars above. His friend was emerging from below, waving and nodding that his inspection of the scorpions had been successful.

Scorpions, archers, catapults; all were readying themselves for the inevitable clash. Lord Monford shouted for them to pick up speed and Aegon amplified. “Run aft”, he told Alyn, who had a look in his eyes that was either fear or excitement.

Both, Aegon concluded, looking to _Queen Rhaella_ , where he thought he could spot Asha Greyjoy give orders with a confidence only possessed by women raised in Dorne (or in the royal family). Where the line ended, he could see the dragons lay waste to Greyjoy's ships closer to the harbour.

Then he made himself face what was coming – and coming fast. “Battle speed!”, Lord Velaryon called; Aegon repeated; the warhorns picked up the command and their pace increased once more.

They were coming straight at each other in two near-perfect lines. Both sides certainly would have liked to outflank the other, but it didn't look as if that was bound to happen. It rather seemed likely to Aegon that a few of the smaller longships would slip in between the gaps in their line – with no sufficient room to manoeuvre, only to be greeted by scorpions.

Their archers went to the fore. Aegon was in charge of the catapults and assured himself that they were ready and facing the enemy, mere heartbeats away from the time of their first use.

Things happened quickly from thereon. It wasn't long until he gave the command to fire the first salve of rocks at the enemy, taking to the skies in a beautiful symmetry with those on the ships on either side of them. The archers began not much later – he couldn't tell what happened beyond the bow of the _Pride of Driftmark_ , though he had to watch one of their own archers falling to an ironborn arrow.

Lord Velaryon shouted for greater speed as their catapults were cranked once more, men working at a frantic pace. Aegon didn't envy the oarsmen below.

The impact came just before he could give the command to lose again, making him stumble like one of those manning the catapults, accidentally drawing the line. This wasn't a problem, though he wasn't sure what exactly had happened at the fore.

“Lose!”, he bellowed at the others, then ran past the catapult that had already fired to assess their situation. Craning his neck over the railing, it seemed like their ram had gone just past that of one of the enemy's larger ships, piercing its bow – which meant that the _Pride of Driftmark_ , while not damaged, was stuck.

Aegon noticed something else. There was a good amount of space between themselves and _Queen Rhaella_ ; more than there should be, and one of the smaller longships was aiming straight for it, oars drawn in.

“Alyn!”, he shouted to his squire, close to the stairs leading belowdecks. “Secure oars starboard!”

His call was repeated. Across the water, Asha Greyjoy had noticed the same happening.

 _Queen Rhaella_ got all her oars in just before the longship could shear them off; the _Pride of Driftmark_ got close. They lost a few, but they had replacements.

The longship was smaller than both galleys, which made it a prime target for both their scorpions and their archers. “Throw the rocks!”, Aegon commanded, picking one himself to hurl it down towards the ironborn and their grappling hooks. The catapults had too much range for this.

“Prince!”, he heard Lord Velaryon's voice bellow. His head spun around to the bow.

There were ironborn slaughtering their archers there, on _their_ ship; on the _Pride of Driftmark_. They were already being boarded, and Lord Velaryon was alone with his archers while all had been busy firing at the small ship.

Aegon cursed, drawing Blackfyre as he ran to the bow. He called for Alyn and Loras, unsure whether they heard, then almost got hit by an axe flying towards him as he all but jumped up the forecastle.

 _Almost_ being the key word. Aegon saw one of the enemy's fighters cut down one of their archers despite the man's best efforts at defending himself and sliced open his neck with Blackfyre; easier than some cuts of meat. Blood gushed, though he didn't wait to watch him die.

Another came towards him. Blackfyre met his shield and cut it in half, then went through his pathetic excuse for armour and between two ribs.

Aegon went on to the next one. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought: _So this is what it is like?_

The answer was, obviously, yes; though he still wasn't quite sure _what_ it was like, despite currently experiencing it.

Perhaps he shouldn't be wasting time reflecting on his feelings, considering that a very large man in proper armour was coming straight at him, axe raised. He wore a kraken-shaped helm and cloak made from cloth of gold.

Blackfyre parried the blow, though its force made Aegon stumble backwards. This was obviously a Greyjoy – Euron? Euron hadn't seemed that large on Pyke.

The man raised the axe again, and Aegon had an idea; stepping back and letting the shaft meet the edge of Blackfyre's blade. It came straight off; axehead falling to the ground.

He tried to get a stab in while the man drew a sword, though he was evaded. Not Euron, he thought again in consideration of his size, ducking under another heavy blow.

 _Oh_ , Aegon realised. Victarion – that would make sense; he'd been very tall. This understanding didn't help when the man's sword hit his arm, not cutting through the plate but swatting him aside, and his elbow crashed right into his chest to make Aegon fall to the ground.

This could've been the end, had it not been for Ser Jaime, who was suddenly standing over him and averting the killing blow.

As Ser Jaime drove the man back, Alyn was there to help Aegon to his feet. An attacker came up behind his squire, Aegon slid Blackfyre through his visor over Alyn's shoulder; the fight continued.

This was the moment Lewyn and Loras arrived. Together, they eventually managed to fight off those who had boarded the _Pride of Driftmark_ , and though Ser Jaime had tried his best to cut him down, Victarion Greyjoy evaded him and returned to his own ship. It freed itself of their ram before they could attempt a boarding, and that while the _Pride of Driftmark_ was still immobilised with the smaller longship blocking one side.

Those on _Queen Rhaella_ had, however, made quick work of its crew. Glancing starboard, Aegon saw both Viserys and Lady Asha climb back onto their own ship after having finished off the rest of the enemy, Aurane Waters remaining onboard with a small group of oarsmen.

They eventually managed to disentangle the three ships. By now, the battle was a mass of confusion, the once neat lines having turned into clusters of ships fighting each other; catapults and scorpions staying their fire in favour of the more easily controllable arrows. Those didn't bother him, as Aegon quickly learned that they were rendered harmless by his armour. What he didn't like, on the other hand, was that he barely knew what was happening everywhere else – towards the harbour, the dragons were still spitting fire at Greyjoy's other fleet, but overall, he couldn't tell how the battle was going.

“Look”, he heard Loras gasp, suddenly next to him, once-shining plate covered in dried blood. He'd opened his visor to stare in horror towards port.

Aegon closed Loras' visor, then followed his gaze. They saw _Lord Steffon_ being boarded from two sides, Ser Renly widely visible in his green armour as he fought off what could only be too many attackers. “I need to -”, Loras began.

“Do what?” Aegon held his arm as if he could run anywhere. “You can hardly swim across.”

They were speeding towards another enemy ship, though Lord Velaryon next shouted for a change of direction – towards _Lord Steffon_ and those attacking her.

Loras amplified Velaryon's commands at the top of his lungs, and Aegon couldn't say he wasn't relieved. But by turning to port, they were presenting their broadside to several enemy ships.

He shouted to prepare the catapults again, as if that would keep them from being rammed. They were moving at great speed, though the same applied to two longships coming at them.

Then there was a mighty roar in the sky above, and Dāero's barely visible outline. _Don't use fire_ , Aegon thought, as if Dany would be able to hear him -

But Dany wasn't an idiot. For a terrible heartbeat, Aegon thought Dāero had been brought out of the sky when he suddenly crashed into one of the ships speeding at them, shattering its mast and slowing it considerably. Everything _stopped_ for that moment; all sides of the battle watching in grim fascination as the dragon – not much smaller than the ship – swallowed men whole, threw them off board with a swat of his tail, pierced them with his sword-like claws. He just about had enough support on the quickly sinking vessel to launch himself back into the sky.

Then there was a crash as the _Pride of Driftmark_ rammed one of the ships attached to _Lord Steffon_ , moving the entire tangled cluster. Aegon saw how Loras sprinted to the fore while their men threw grappling hooks, ready to be the first to board the enemy.

Aegon ran to the bow as well, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the other longship was coming at them. It seemed set to strike them at the stern even as Dāero overflew it and ripped of its mast in passing.

At the bow, he saw Loras climb across, cutting down a man who'd struck at him with ease. Ser Jaime and Lord Velaryon were behind, but they could likely use some help -

“Not now!”, he heard someone shout, realising too late it was Lewyn. Aegon was set to jump onboard the enemy longship when the other one rammed them, propelling him not onto the deck but throwing him to port, where there was only water.

When he hit the surface, Aegon thought that it was good he wore armour, as that hadn't hurt. Then he wanted to punch himself (thank the gods he didn't, with Blackfyre still clutched in his gauntlets) – because this same armour would certainly be his death. He felt the water trickle in quickly, seeping between the gaps in the plate and soaking everything below as he was pulled under and no swimming lesson he'd ever had could save him.

As the water entered his helmet, he cast a last glance at the battle above; at a horrified Lewyn standing at the railing and shouting for a line. _Too heavy_ , the thought dimly, and: _What an underwhelming way to die. Slipped and drowned._

Had any Targaryen ever drowned? Gael, he remembered; Jaehaerys' and Alysanne's last. Water began to fill his nose, leading him to cough and breathe in more. Aegon felt his limbs thrash; fruitlessly trying to kick at something, to _swim_ when there was nothing but -

An enormous claw closing around him, and suddenly being lifted up.


	15. Lannisport III

_Daenerys_

They surged into the sky, then raced towards the harbour. If Aegon was hit by anything; if Dāero dropped him; if the claws were holding him too tightly; if he'd already drowned – she couldn't contemplate the thought.

They overflew the battling ships; the second contingent of longships seemingly pushing the royal fleet towards the first. Rhaenys and Jae were still setting that afire, though Dany could now see that there was a real danger of their own coming in contact with them. Meanwhile, the first Greyjoy ships had already reached Lannisport, men disembarking even as they were greeted by the trebuchets upon the city walls.

What to do? It would be safest for Aegon to be brought over those walls, yet Dany didn't dare to fly towards the hail of stones and bolts coming from them, nor go higher when he wasn't protected by Dāero's heat. There were projectiles coming from the castle, too; made all the more deadly by the sheer distance they dropped. If Aegon had swallowed much water he shouldn't be coughing it up and twisting around in the dragon's claws either -

The harbour wasn't entirely swarming with ironborn yet, Dany decided, and Dāero would protect them.

She directed him towards a corner of the docks no ship had reached yet, praying he'd understand what to do. The dragon slowly neared the ground until his claws had to be close to touching it, then dropped Aegon before landing.

Dany frantically undid her chains, noting with relief that Dāero was spanning his wing over where Aegon had to be. When she climbed down and under the wing, she found him on his hands and knees, hair shining in the darkness, coughing and retching.

“Gods, what happened?”, she asked as she opened her visor and dropped to the ground by his side. It had been Lewyn's shouts that had alerted her to the situation.

Aegon was still occupied with his coughing. “Tried to -”, he said, “jump. Was rammed. Slipped.” He shook his head and wiped his mouth with the only soft material around them – his hair – then grimaced as he tasted the seawater that soaked it. “Embarrassing”, he concluded.

“There is worse”, she said, watching as he made it into a kneeling position. “Dying, for instance.”

“I came close enough to that.” Aegon's eyes searched the ground and showed relief when they found his sword by his side, just by the helmet and coif he had to have ripped off right after landing.

Dany wondered how much use the blade had already seen. “I cannot believe you did not lose Blackfyre.”

Aegon actually managed to grin, though feebly. “After all the trouble you went through to bring it back? That would have been rude.”

They looked at each other. It was hot under Dāero's wing, the smell of the dragon mixing with that of the sea. “What now?”, she asked.

Aegon struggled to his feet, and Dany rose to help him. Here, they had to be the safest people in all of Lannisport, but it couldn't last. “What is happening?”, he asked back. “I was too busy not dying to look over the bay.”

“They have reached the harbour, and I believe our ships are being pushed towards them.” Dany handed him his helmet. “I could fly you back over the walls to join Rhaegar.” With him by her in the saddle, they'd be able to fly high enough.

Then they heard a crash, and shouts, and Dāero shifted his posture. They stepped out from under the wing and found that a longship had landed at their formerly peaceful dock, ironborn soldiers disembarking while trying to get away from the dragon as quickly as they could.

“Dracarys!, Dany commanded, the stream of the flame just about reaching those who'd already stepped off the ship and setting them aflame. It was much more horrifying this close.

And dangerous, she realised when a scorpion bolt came hurling towards them, narrowly missing her to hit the dragon's side. It didn't even come close to piercing his scales, though he gave an irritated growl and stood up further on his hind legs.

She could feel Dāero was in the mood for a bloodbath, yet wasn't sure in how far she could control him. When they'd crashed into the ship that had been set to ram the _Pride of Driftmark_ , she'd let him loose for a few moments, not entirely convinced that she _could_ have stopped him from causing the destruction he'd visited upon the ironborn.

Better to get on his back before it was too late. They had some difficulty climbing into the saddle with Dāero thrashing about and ready to attack, especially Aegon, who she assumed was soaked to his breeches under the armour; the weight slowing his movements.

Yet, they managed. She was about to give the command to set the entire ship ablaze when Aegon grabbed her arm and pointed behind them.

A galley bearing Lannister sails was speeding towards the longship. It wasn't the only one – she couldn't tell whether their ships were being pushed towards the harbour by the second Greyjoy fleet or if someone had given the command to attack those already at the port, but there it was, ready to ram into the longship at any moment.

“ _Naejot”_ , she told Dāero; _forward_ , and so they went. The Lannister galley rammed into the longship's stern, her dragon growled, then flapped his wings once for height before falling upon the ironborn. The ship's railings and part of the upper deck crashed in under his weight, his wings threw men into the sea, his jaws could kill three in one bite.

Dany sat atop him, Aegon behind her, and looked at the death and terror they caused. These men had not needed to die today, she thought. Without Euron Greyjoy, there would have been peace until the war for the dawn. But then he'd come and led them into terrible fates – like the very young-looking boy who'd ran up across the broken deck and brought his axe against Dāero's haunches, desperately hacking at the dragon without ever piercing his scales until he gave an annoyed huff and impaled him with one claw.

Men were trying to leave longship for the Lannister galley; less terrified of the soldiers there than the dragon here. This didn't help them one bit when most ran into a hail of arrows, and those who remained were finished off by swords.

They were no longer needed. Dāero took them up into the sky, allowing a better view over the battle: Ironborn were filling the harbour, though suffering heavily from the fire awaiting them from the city walls. Ships from all fleets were nearing or reaching them; royal and Lannister galleys arriving to attack the longships from behind, only to be followed by the second contingent of Greyjoy's ships. Most had managed to circumvent the burning vessels now floating without direction, though Dany could spy a few of their own who'd gone up in flames after making contact with the fire.

This made it difficult to use the dragons. She could see Rhovio and Vēzos circling above, clearly unsure about what to do – but this hadn't remained unnoticed by the highest command. Just as she looked up to the Rock, a beacon was lit.

Good. Dany brought her mount up far, quite sure that the heavy rocks from the trebuchets could harm even the dragons. Then they made for the city walls.

_Rhaenys_

She wasn't sure for how many hours it had gone on at this point. After they'd gone back behind the walls, her father had commanded them to use no more fire, then led his men outside – while the ironborn didn't seem to be posing much of a threat to the city itself, they couldn't leave their own sailors to be slaughtered as more and more ships from both sides reached the harbour. Aegon had come with him; Dany had been sent to watch over _Queen Rhaella_ ; the other two dragonriders had been told to help their men in the harbour with tooth and claw instead of flame.

This had been a while ago; however long it really was. Since then, things had become markedly more chaotic.

Lannisport's harbour basin, empty when the night had begun, was full of broken ships, many burning. There were so many that there were hardly any gaps, extending the battlefield that the rest of the port had become.

Rhaenys knew that she had moved too far from Vezos when a goldenheart arrow went straight past her head and into the neck of a mace-bearing man behind her. So Sarella was here somewhere, but there was no time to look for her – she wanted, _needed_ to find Euron Greyjoy – if he was still alive, that was, but who could know? They'd never identified the _Silence,_ nor seen any trace of him.

She climbed onto the deck of one of the ships; a Greyjoy one littered with corpses from both sides. A man in Velaryon armour was still alive, though barely as he was missing most of a leg and had a deep wound in his belly. He moaned something that sounded like “Your Grace”, then asked for a quicker death. Rhaenys steeled her heart before sliding Dark Sister through his and went on; climbing ship after ship of torment to find the man who'd caused it all.

Those she encountered recognised her as a Targaryen, of course, but couldn't see her face – some of the enemy ran, others fought. Years of training paid off until she met an ironborn soldier twice her size who would have made quick work of her if he hadn't got a spear through the back.

Uncle Oberyn wasted no time berating her and they went on together with a few of his men. Fire was spreading in between the ships, not scaring her but still making her heart sink as it became increasingly unlikely that anyone who could hadn't left yet.

Though they also saw Aegon on the wreck that had once been the _Pride of Driftmark_ , fighting alongside Loras Tyrell and Lord Velaryon. She wanted nothing more than to join him, and yet, he seemed to be holding his own and also nowhere near Euron Greyjoy.

When she saw both Dāero and Rhovio descend on the harbour, Rhaenys ran over the ships towards the dock they'd landed on, desperate to hear if the other two knew anything.

“We found him”, Jae said the second his feet hit the ground and without her having to ask.

Dany was there the next instant. “We believe”, she added. “A larger ship than most and a galley; black sails and a red hull, a woman without a mouth at the prow. She is chasing _Lord Steffon_ and followed by _Queen Rhaella_. We both tried to get close.”

“But you could not?” Rhaenys looked to the bay, but couldn't see much except for the chaos of burning ships and the first rays of light on the horizon.

“It was strange”, Jae said. “They -”, he gestured towards the dragons forming a protective circle around the three of them, “would not. It wasn't like trying to cross the Wall; then they try but can't – they just truly did not _want_ to.”

Even though she was standing between two dragons, Rhaenys suddenly felt very cold. “I need to see”, she said, calling for Vēzos, who'd taken to circling far above them. “Despite all that, how does the battle seem to be going?”, she remembered to ask.

“Oh, we are winning”, Dany told her before the dragons made way and both she and Jae stepped into the fray, swords drawn.

By the time Rhaenys found the _Silence_ , it had already reached the harbour and rammed _Lord Steffon_. She didn't want her dragon anywhere near it, so she dismounted not far away and commanded Vēzos back to the castle, hoping he'd listen.

 _Queen Rhaella_ crashed into the _Silence_ , followed by screams all around. Rhae saw Viserys on the bow, Lady Asha by his side and already throwing an axe onto the other ship, where it went straight into a man's chest.

Then there was a shout behind her. Rhae turned with Dark Sister drawn to find an attacker go down after taking a morning star to the head, Lady Dacey Mormont standing over him with a reproachful look. “By the gods, princess; don't just stand there and gawk.”

“Euron”, she replied, pointing to the _Silence_. “He is there and I need to kill him.”

A group of ironborn fighters were running towards them, all looking bloody and quite determined to end them both. This was made significantly less concerning by the group of mounted knights pursuing them, led by Lord Connington and faster than they possibly could be.

Rhaenys looked back to the ships. Lady Asha was right there, so she assumed that Euron would aim for her and the threat she posed to his claim – yet, she saw him hacking his way across _Lord Steffon_ instead.

“ _Princess”_ , Lady Dacey hissed, prompting her to turn back and absent-mindedly parry a blow from an enemy soldier before she brought Dark Sister down on his shoulder and the Valyrian steel cut a deep gash. Blood everywhere -

 _Blood_ , she remembered. There was so much of it all around; on land and in the sea, covering the harbour and colouring the water. _Power_.

Lord Connington's men had cut down the rest of their attackers; more blood had flown. Euron Greyjoy, covered in the very same, very nearly brought his sword through Ser Renly's eye on _Lord Steffon_ , but was narrowly stopped by Ser Oswell.

“Your Grace”, Lord Connington said from atop his horse. “Come with us; we will bring you to your father -”

“Thank you, my lord”, she replied, watching how another man stepped into Ser Oswell's blade to save Euron's life while Ser Adrian, Lady Asha, and Viserys were all about to board _Lord Steffon_. “But I cannot leave now.”

She didn't look away from the ships, but heard Lord Jon's horse coming closer. “Rhaenys”, he said, “you are here by yourself, without any of the Kingsguard.”

A group of Euron's men followed the others from the _Silence_ , attacking from behind to keep them away from him. Their self-declared king, meanwhile, strode across the deck as if he meant to disembark.

“The Kingsguard are valiant, skilled, and loyal”, Rhaenys said. “Yet they cannot protect any of us from the Crow's Eye.”

Euron actually climbed off _Lord Steffon_. There was no time to waste, and so Rhaenys simply began walking. _“Your Grace”_ , Lord Connington all but hissed, as if she were still a little girl he could reprimand for playing with fire. Rhaenys turned to him and lifted her visor for the kind of look her mother was so good at, holding his gaze.

“At least take Lady Dacey with you”, he finally said, curt and annoyed.

Under any other circumstance, she would have said yes, but Dacey was inconveniently strong-willed. Casting her eyes over the other knights, she settled on one who seemed so young he couldn't have earned his spurs long ago. “You”, she said, pointing. “Dismount and come with me.”

The young man stuttered and obeyed, Lady Dacey gave her a look so disapproving that Lyanna would've been proud, Lord Jon was resigned.

Rhaenys saw Euron stride towards the blood-filled harbour basin and began to walk the same way. She didn't know what he was planning; didn't know what _she_ would do – but whatever it was, she should better know of it.

“What is your name?”, she snapped at the knight.

He was having trouble keeping up with her. “Ser Joff, Your Grace”, he said. “Of House Lonmouth.”

“Joffrey, I take it?”, she asked back. “You are not Lord Richard's son; we would have met before if you were.”

“No, Your Grace”, he replied. They were far enough from Euron that maybe, just _maybe_ he would not take note – she'd already completely lost track of what was happening on the ships, though she trusted Viserys and the Kingsguard to handle it. “To both, I mean, my princess. I am Lord Richard's nephew, and my name is just Joff.”

The fire engulfing the ships in the basin had spread all throughout; like an enormous funeral pyre for the many men who'd died. Rhaenys wondered how many of them she'd known.

“We have never met”, the knight continued, “Your Grace speaks true – of course. I was meant to come to your royal wedding but then my squiring duties kept me – but I saw you once when you visited Storm's End with the king, many years ago.”

“Wonderful”, she said, then nothing else, thinking that even her mother would forgive her for bad manners in this situation. Ser Joff got the message.

 _Fire,_ Rhaenys thought. There was fire and blood; exactly what Euron had vowed to bring – yet those weren't _his_ words, were they?

She cast a glance behind her, noting that Lord Connington, Lady Dacey, and the others had become embroiled in another fight. When she looked back to the basin, she saw that Euron was kneeling right at the water, close to the smouldering wreck of a ship, palms held out flat.

Something stirred in the air, and Rhaenys sped up. There was so much _blood_ in the water.

“Where are we going, Your -”, Ser Joff began, cut off by the glare she gave him. They went towards the water and the burning ships, though far enough from Euron – far enough for what she did not know, only that she could imagine the state of mind he would be in if he was to work any kind of sorcery, and unlikely to notice their presence.

And there _was_ sorcery around, no doubt. All the blood, the way he sat, the strange vibrations in the air, they way the sun rose red...

Having reached the water, Rhaenys fell to her knees. They were so close to a burning ship that it was perhaps too hot; certainly so for Ser Joff, who seemed altogether unconvinced of her endeavour.

Whatever that was. “Guard me, ser”, Rhaenys said and closed her eyes, trying to _see_. She thought of the sigils that opened her mind, of shade of the evening, of the heat and the iron smell, of the Crone's lantern and the weirwood faces and what Melisandre had taught her about looking into flames -

And she saw Euron Crow's Eye as he was: One large black eye on a slimy mound of tentacles. They reached deep into the red sea, absorbing the corpses in the water and feasting on their blood.

And she saw that this night of senseless death had served but one purpose: That of a large sacrifice to aid the birth of a dark god.

And she saw what he thought he'd become and could one day achieve: Able to see all; hear all; control the actions of man and beast alike. God-king of Westeros at least; ruler of the waves and land and sky.

And Rhaenys Targaryen wasn't impressed.

Relatively confident that she was acting on the physical plane as well, she removed her gauntlets and bent forward to touch one hand into the water, unbothered by the way it simmered. _Fire and blood_ – the heat was hers, from the soot colouring the tops of masts to the burning planks falling into the sea. It grew from her as it would from Vēzos until it reached the first tentacle.

It shrank back, startled, and the black eye's gaze darted towards her.

Rhaenys prayed to all the gods she knew and invented a few more just in case while she stared at Euron Greyjoy. _I have black eyes as well, and two of them._

When she watched him draw a dagger, half seeing him in his physical form and half as the abomination he was, Rhaenys wanted to laugh. Then she actually did, because this _was_ laughable and he should know – he cut across his palm.

King's blood? He would see who had _that_. Rhaenys copied him, both their lifeblood dropping into the water, extending tentacles and heating the sea at the same time.

Ser Joff, she was vaguely aware, was disturbed. His concerned stammering threatened her concentration while her blood and will made the basin _steam_. It rose from in between the ships; just the finest mist that vanished when it reached the flames.

Yet it did not suffice to push back the Crow's Eye, only hinder him. The tentacles didn't grow; no longer feasted – but they did not shrink back.

Rhaenys saw the malice inside him. _Two black eyes_ , she heard Euron agree, _for now. You shall give me both in sacrifice soon enough_.

 _Why sacrifice to you?_ , she asked. _I am not picky with my gods, but there are limits._ She drew from the flames around and from the dragons in the sky and far below in the earth.

 _You will, and gladly_ , he replied, tentacles writhing as they attempted to grow further. _And you will weep with joy from their empty sockets when I do you the honour of taking you as salt wife -_

That was too absurd of an image to scare her. _You will be disappointed to learn I am already wed._

They were at an impasse, which was more worrying. As Rhaenys looked throughout the higher plane, noting how far he was willing to go merely to increase his power; that he'd never planned to win this battle but had merely wanted thousands to die – she thought: _There is no price too high to stop him_.

Then her heart sank as she understood what needed to be done; that the only edge she could get on the Crow's Eye was even more blood; one more death.

“Ser Joff”, she said, slowly turning her head to the visibly frightened knight – only her station had kept him from intervening, that much was clear. “Do you follow the Seven?”

“Of course, Your Grace”, he stammered, recoiling when he met her eyes.

Rhaenys glanced back at the Crow's Eye and understood there was no choice. “Then pray with me”, she said, taking off her helmet and bidding Ser Joff to do the same. “Kneel and close your eyes, ser.”

His head was drenched in sweat; coif and all. “Oh Father”, Rhaenys intoned, “many have fallen in this night. We pray You judge them kindly.” Ser Joff's lips repeated her words in a whisper. “Oh Mother, we pray You show Your mercy.” She cleared her mind of all but her intent and the crackling of the flames. “Oh Warrior, we pray You take in those who served You in this fight.” _Oh gods of Valyria; my forebears, take this sacrifice._ “Oh Maiden, we pray You protect their sisters, their daughters, their lovers.” She felt the fire within her; not boiling but a roaring flame that threatened to make her skin burst. “Oh Smith, we pray You mend their pains.” Her hand was as if forged to fit Dark Sister's grip, the sword extending like her own claw. “Oh Crone, we pray You light their path and give wisdom to those they left behind.” The Crow's Eye was watching, the sea simmering. “Oh Stranger, we pray You lead their souls to the other world and give them peace.”

She grabbed Ser Joff's wet head in one hand and cut his throat with the other. His blood gushed hot and plentiful, sizzling as it hit her armour while she cradled the dying man in her lap.

The water reached a rolling boil, ships dancing in the basin. The kraken's pained scream was the last thing she heard before darkness fell upon her.


	16. Lannisport IV

_Jaehaerys_

With stiff legs and heavy arms they walked along the harbour, stepping over corpses.

The sun brought its golden-red light from the sea. Lannister colours. Jaehaerys wondered if Tyrion and Ser Jaime were still alive, and everyone else.

There was only one person he knew and he was certain still lived: Dany beside him. There they walked, two people in bloodied black armour, nodding at those they'd fought alongside with – the man of the Lannisport city watch currently finishing off the last ironborn attacker, the footsoldiers in their own colours looking around in dazed relief and falling to their knees as they passed (Dragonstone men, he thought fondly; good people), a knight in the rooster surcoat of House Swyft mourning his dead horse. There _were_ living all around, that wasn't it – and all from their side, with only few of the longships having made their escape at whichever point the battle had turned so obviously in the royal side's favour that even the most thick-headed lunatic had had to see reason.

Jaehaerys glanced up. Rhovio and Dāero had flown back to the Rock to rest, and they could see Vēzos' shimmering golden scales reflecting the rising sun.

Dany took off her helmet and everything beneath, revealing that her braids had hardly suffered from the battle. “Vēzos is there”, she said quietly. “He does not seem distressed.”

He didn't, and that calmed the nagging fear Jaehaerys had felt ever since the sea had started boiling and the air had become thick with sorcery. Dragons knew when their rider died.

He, too, freed his head. “There”, he said as he spied a group of people close to the city gates, all unmistakeable.

Ser Arthur saw them first, despite seeming very focused on cleaning Dawn's white blade of every last speck of blood. His father was there, of course, as were Ser Barristan and Obara Sand.

All seemed mostly unhurt. Obara was bleeding from her temple, but she'd taken worse injuries when fighting for sport.

“You are both well?”, the king greeted them. Jaehaerys knew his father had spent much of the battle actually fighting, yet he doubted anyone but those closest to him would see his exhaustion. “You may have injuries you do not feel. Fighting numbs the pain.”

“Not to worry, brother”, Dany said. “There is not a – well, there are a few dents in my armour, but still. We are unhurt.”

“That cannot be said for all”, Ser Barristan chimed in. “Lord Baratheon has taken an arrow to the shoulder and an axe to the leg. Even worse, Lord Lannister -”

“Has had his face cut open”, Obara interrupted. “I saw the tip of his nose on the ground. My father and Sarella have gone up to the castle to treat him.”

 _Gods_ , Jaehaerys thought. He had faith in the ability of those two to keep Tyrion alive, but it would not help his prospects in finding a wife.

They did not hear any further details about this, however. The king's demeanour shifted and all turned to see a group of riders approaching, their surviving soldiers standing aside and their horses trying to avoid the bodies of the fallen.

Lord Connington, Lady Dacey, Loras Tyrell, and Aegon. To see his brother alive and well made one weight drop off Jaehaerys' shoulders – inconceivable that he would have drowned had Dany not saved him, as they'd learned when all had convened behind the city walls during the battle.

But he was here, taking in their survival with similar relief. “Father”, he said with a nod after dismounting (when had he even got a horse?), “Lord Velaryon is dead.”

“It took five ironborn to kill him”, Loras added. Every inch of his armour was covered in blood, soot, and grime.

The king briefly closed his eyes in a perfectly controlled display of dignified grief. “What of his body?”

“It was on the _Pride of Driftmark_.” Aegon finished walking to them and leaned his arm on Jaehaerys' shoulder. “The ship has burned completely; I doubt we will find him.”

“Good”, their father said. “A pyre for a Valyrian.” Jaehaerys was sure that his mind was racing with possible replacements for a master of ships.

There was a moment of silence before Aegon spoke again. “There is more. Alyn...”

All could see the alarm on the king's face as his eyes darted to Lord Connington, who was expressionless. “My son is missing”, he said. “I am told he was thrown off board before the ship reached the harbour.”

Jaehaerys looked up to his brother; could see the guilt on his face, and knew that Dany saw the same. “Jon”, the king began, “we cannot yet know what happened.”

All were silent once more, all thought: We _do_ know what happened; he wore full armour and wasn't fished out of the water by a dragon. But he'd only been five-and-ten and his father's heir, so they seemed to silently agree to hold on to the illusion for a while longer.

Other things emerged: That it had been Lord Connington and Lady Dacey who'd last seen Rhae, before she'd walked off with nobody but a young knight for protection to pursue Euron Greyjoy. That they'd then fought off some of the last ironborn and found Aegon and Loras towards the end of the battle, lending them the horses of their fallen.

That there'd been fighting between Greyjoy's _Silence_ on one side and _Lord Steffon_ as well as _Queen Rhaella_ on the other, but none were too sure about the outcome.

And that: “Loras saved my life more times than I can count tonight”, as Aegon explained. “And I his, but the point remains: He has proven that he has the skill, the courage, and the willingness to give his life for mine. He should be on the Kingsguard, Father, and if you say he cannot be because he is no knight, then I will make him one.”

Aegon had walked towards the middle of the circle by now, speaking with large gestures, and drew Blackfyre to point it to the ground. Loras actually started to walk towards him and kneel when the king intervened, the faintest smile on his lips: “No. This will be done, but properly: You shall stand vigil in a sept the next night, Loras Tyrell, and walk barefoot from Lannisport to Casterly Rock. You will be anointed with seven oils by the least bothersome septon I can find, and then I shall knight you myself.” He shrugged. “I cannot keep my son from doing this; any knight can make a knight. But why settle for a prince when it could be a king?”

Loras bowed deeply while Aegon looked to their father with narrowed eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. You do me a great honour.”

“The white cloak?”, Aegon asked still.

Before this could be discussed any further, both of the Kingsguard pointed behind them. As all turned, they saw a new group of riders approaching: Ser Renly, barely holding himself up in the saddle; Ser Adrian, seemingly unscathed; Lady Asha, bloodied but sitting straight and proud – and the last rider, whose sight made Jaehaerys' knees give just a bit even though Aegon turned away so rapidly his weight was gone.

It was Viserys, who seemed to have difficulty riding. This was because his arm was obviously injured, and because he was carrying a limp body in black armour.

“No”, was all Jaehaerys could hear; right from their father's mouth. He said it as if trying to command the universe. As if a king could give orders to fate and the gods.

“ _No”_ , Dany repeated with emphasis. Aegon had already begun walking towards the group and Jaehaerys himself very much agreed with them: This could not be.

Then they heard Viserys' voice, strained but loud: “She lives!”, he shouted. “She breathes.”

 _Oh, right_ , was his thought, and he felt like laughing. That made sense; it meant the world made sense, because the alternative hadn't been imaginable.

Aegon reached them first, though there wasn't much of a difference between the rest of them. His brother took Rhae from Viserys and their father freed her face, checking her eyes.

Then he nodded slowly, stroking her chin with a tenderness that shouldn't be possible while wearing gauntlets. “Sorcerous exhaustion”, the king announced. “She merely needs rest, assuming there are no further injuries.”

He glanced up at Viserys, then, as they all did. He was trying to disguise how he swayed in the saddle, and Jaehaerys felt a new degree of appreciation for his uncle. “Where and how did you find her? What happened?”

Viserys looked around and shook his head. Loras was fuzzing around Ser Renly while the rest of both groups had joined to get a grasp on the aftermath of all this. “Not now”, Viserys said. “I will tell you when we are alone – and then you can tell me what our story will be. I doubt they will have much in common.”

_Daenaerys_

This was nice.

Dany was warm and dry, though possibly not clean. She was very comfortable, however – the feeling of fine linen and a good feather mattress with no steel surrounding her body; Jae's arm around her waist, the sensation of sun rays on her skin and the faint sound of waves from far below.

She heard a soft sigh and turned to it. They weren't alone, though this wasn't alarming.

When she opened her eyes, she first saw her betrothed's face. It made her smile.

She tried to peek over his shoulder, but found that every single part of her was sore and this seemed like it would involve too many muscles. Instead, she nudged his side until he rolled flat onto his back.

On the other side of the softly snoring Jae were Aegon and Rhaenys, closely intertwined. As she'd turned, her betrothed his hand had fallen into his brother's and they now held each other.

They were all wearing the tunics and breeches they'd had on under the armour. Very vaguely, Dany could remember how they'd brought Rhae into this bedchamber in Casterly Rock and got the armour off her, then come to the silent agreement that the only thing left to do was to undress to the same extent and fall into this very bed.

Dany remembered the night: The burning ships, the dying men, the dozens (who was she kidding – hundreds) she'd killed, and those who'd tried to kill her. The devastation and exhaustion of it all.

It seemed so far away now that they were lying here, so peaceful and unbothered.

All of them, she thought, were in dire need of a bath. Still, her heart felt lighter when Rhae opened her eyes and they saw each other.

It clearly took her niece some time to process it all; her face showing a journey of emotions until she fully grasped their situation.

Meeting Dany's gaze again, she looked to Jae and his snoring and rolled her eyes. Dany giggled, prompting both men to make displeased sounds and open theirs.

“Rhae”, was the first thing Aegon said, even as Jaehaerys was still blinking. “You are here.”

“Where else would I be?”, she mumbled sleepily.

Dany saw him kiss her, first with reverence, then lust. Lying half on her betrothed's chest while they continued, entirely unbothered by their presence, she thought: why not... ?

She could tell he was of the same mind when they heard steps from the hallway. The kiss was broken by the time Viserys stepped inside, looked them all over with narrowed eyes, and finally concluded: “How sweet.”

He didn't exactly look well-rested, but he was clean and fully dressed, which couldn't be said for them. “Good morning, uncle”, Aegon offered.

“It is the afternoon.” Viserys' arm was in a sling. “Get yourselves cleaned up”, he said. “There are matters to discuss, and our king is waiting.”

_Rhaenys_

They'd been given the tally: A decisive victory all around, with the ironborn making up the majority of the dead, while their own toll was overall manageable. The royal fleet had been decimated, however.

Only a handful of the longships had escaped towards the end. There was no trace of either Euron nor Victarion Greyjoy.

“Beyond that”, her father said, sitting on an armchair in one of Casterly Rock's many cavernous solars, “Lord Baratheon's hurt leg and shoulder are not life-threatening, but may be crippling. Ser Renly is suffering from a variety of minor injuries and will fully recover. Aurane Waters has suffered various burns, though none too serious, and none to his face.” That should be a relief to him, Rhaenys thought, pretty as he was. “Viserys, I see you have been to the maester.”

It was just their family here, including Oberyn. “A clean break”, Viserys announced. It was his left arm, too. “He said it should heal with time.”

“Good. How fares Lord Lannister?”

Oberyn sighed. Realising that Rhaenys had no idea what had happened, he told her about the cut Tyrion had taken to the face, then added: “He will live, at the very least. I cannot promise that it will make him any more attractive, however.” Looking at the king, her uncle inclined his head. “After you were poisoned all those years ago, you asked me if you were disfigured and I could happily tell you that you were not. I am afraid I will not be able to say the same to him.”

Remembering their conversation before the battle, she exchanged a look with Jae. Tyrion would not be happy about this.

“Well, at least he lives”, the king said. “Many others do not; some very important. For one, Lord Velaryon was slain.”

This wasn't news to anyone but her, she could tell. “His son is very young, is he not?”, she asked.

“Six”, Aegon said. “Quite young for the lordship of Driftmark. Will we take him on as ward and make Aurane his regent?”

“Yes to the wardship”, the king replied. “I am not sure about Aurane as a regent, however; his mother might be a better choice. I have already written to express my condolences and offer to make young Lord Monterys your page.”

Aegon took this in stride, though Rhaenys was not entirely convinced that they needed a six-year-old running after them. Still, she understood – Monterys Velaryon would one day be one of their most important lords.

“There is more”, their father continued, tone sombre. “Alyn Connington's body washed up on the shore not long ago. You will all understand that Jon is devastated.”

Looking around, she could tell again that she was the only one surprised by this. Aegon nodded sadly and she took his hand, quite sure that he would find a way to blame himself. “Ser Oswell”, the king went on, “was found with an axe stuck in his back, surrounded by a ring of dead foes. And”, now his eyes went to Oberyn, whose expression had hardened, “Prince Lewyn has been confirmed to have died on the ships. A burnt body in the armour of the Kingsguard was found, with him the only one unaccounted for.”

By the gods. Rhaenys felt a knot in her throat when she thought of both men – all of them had known them all their lives; they'd taught them how to fight and so much more besides.

Oberyn broke the silence. “I have sent word to Doran. He will ensure a ship comes and brings him home to Sunspear.”

At least they'd found his body at all, she thought. “Now”, the king said, “Rhaenys. What happened?”

She looked down at her hands, remembering how Ser Joff's blood had gushed all over her gauntlets. Then she told them all – there was no need to lie.

When she was done, silence filled the room once more. She looked into the faces of each of the others, wondering if they were judging her. Then again, she doubted it. Aegon would support her even if she attempted the same as the Crow's Eye, Jae understood blood magic well, Dany would agree that she hadn't had a choice, Viserys wouldn't care about the death of one minor knight, and Oberyn had likely done worse out of sheer curiosity.

“Do you believe that Ser Joff's death turned the tide against Euron?”, her father asked.

“Yes”, she said. “I know it did. I do not know what happened after – but he was attempting to gain an enormous amount of power through all this slaughter; to use the many deaths to become closer to being a god. He did not succeed.”

“Then what you did what was right.” With that, the judgement was cast in her favour. “How did you find her?”

Rhaenys hadn't even known how she'd gone from the harbour to that bed she'd woken up in, and only now learned it had been Viserys. “Lying unconscious by the burning ships, Ser Joff with his cut throat on top of her and Dark Sister in her hands”, he explained. “Nobody else saw before I did. I kicked his body down into the water and sheathed the sword before I called for anyone else.”

“Thank you”, she said. In the moment, Rhaenys hadn't wasted a thought on who would be able to see her.

“His body may yet be found”, the king said. “It would mean nothing if this happened, but if there is one thing we can do for his House, it is to announce this: You were exhausted beyond belief and choking from the smoke coming from the ships when several ironborn attackers fell upon you. The last thing you remember before losing consciousness is Ser Joff coming to your defence like the true knight he was.”

“I think I sparred with him once”, Jae chimed in. “He wasn't terribly good.”

Their father shot him a warning look. “That hardly matters. One of us killed him and to praise him to the seven heavens is the least we can do.” He cleared his throat. “Now, as strange as it may seem, we have a victory feast to attend.”

_Aegon_

The battle had reduced their Kingsguard down to four: The Sers Barristan, Arthur, Jaime, and Adrian. Considering this, his father really hadn't been able to deny him.

Loras wasn't the only one to be knighted at the feast, though he lead the group, walking all the way from Lannisport to the Rock's Great Hall. And he was the only one to be given a white cloak after speaking his vows.

They were able to talk a while into the feast, when the mood had turned decidedly merry as all attendees truly realised they were still alive. Only some were absent – Stannis Baratheon, who was likely glad for the excuse offered by his injuries, as well as Lord Connington.

Aegon had spoken to him briefly before the celebrations, though there were no words to express what he felt. Alyn had been his _squire_.

“No”, Loras said when he tried to raise the subject. “We can speak of Alyn all you like, but not tonight. This is a _feast_ , Aegon.”

It really was. People were dancing and everything, with the two of them watching from the sidelines. “How can we not speak of -”

“By simply not doing it.” Having crossed his arms, Loras shook his shoulders to make his new cloak dance. “There are triumphs, too. It was you who wanted me on the Kinsguard.”

“I did”, he said. “As did your family, and do not tell me that you did not want this. You have an excuse not to wed, will see Ser Renly often as he barely leaves court, and have now become one of the most famed knights in the realm.”

“I am not complaining.” Loras nodded his head into the direction of their host – Lord Tyrion was conscious due to whichever magic Oberyn and Sarella had worked on him, most of his face hidden under bandages. He'd still wanted to show himself as alive and was now being kept company by the king himself. “My family is almost satisfied now. All we need is for my sister to wed well.”

Aegon squinted at Tyrion. “You are aware that this will not make him any more handsome?”

“Are you aware that Margaery is soiled? Wait, yes, you are; it was you who did it.”

He clicked his tongue, looking over the crowd. His brother and sister were dancing together, Dany with a blushing squire and trying to keep her kind smile even as he stepped on her feet, Viserys was far past dancing as he leaned over a lady who looked at him as if he'd cast a spell on her.

“I know this is not your area of expertise, Ser Loras, but men cannot truly know if they are lying with a maid. As long as none of us tell, this will not be an issue.”

“My father believes otherwise.”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Your father is a dolt. If he truly wants to wed her to Tyrion, however, he is welcome to do so.” A great western alliance would be more threatening to the Iron Throne if they weren't so assured of Lord Lannister's love.

There were also several comments about how Tyrion might find bedding Margaery on the tip of his tongue, but he kept them there.


	17. The Seastone Chair I

_King's Landing_

_Daenerys_

They sat on one of the Red Keep's terraces, a slight breeze in their hair. Going by letters from the North and even their stay in the Westerlands, they knew that autumn had begun to make its mark, but down here, it was still pleasantly warm.

Their recovering forces were still at Lannisport, the Redwyne fleet making its way up to reinforce what was left of their own so they could take Pyke. When one had three dragons, however, it wasn't difficult to quickly bring a few people halfway across the realm.

“You both did very well”, Rhaegar said. Her nephews and niece were with their mothers, and even though Elia and Lyanna had raised her like their own daughter, she felt closer to her brothers in moments like this. “I saw you from the walls, Dany, when you were the first to take Dāero down to the ships. There was no hesitation.”

She leaned back with her cup of Dornish red, looking out over the city below. “There was no time to hesitate”, she said. “Even though what we did was monstrous.”

“What you did was needed”, Viserys replied. “Had you not hurt their first fleet as much as you did, we would have been stuck between both because Velaryon had miscalculated their speed.” When Rhaegar opened his mouth, he raised his hand defensively. “Yes, I know you will say one should not speak ill of the dead. Nevertheless, he made a mistake.”

“He did”, their king agreed. “And he died. Now we need a new master of ships.” He studied Viserys' face in that piercing way he had. They looked so alike, though Rhaegar wasn't only older, but also taller, his shoulders wider and his features less sharp. “I have long thought that once you reach a sufficient age, brother, you should have a position to match your station. Now one has opened, and you have shown yourself a capable captain; boarding the _Silence_ itself.” They had no idea how, but the ship had disappeared by the end of the battle, alongside Euron Greyjoy. “I should like for you to take Lord Velaryon's place on the small council.”

Viserys blinked, drank a sip of wine, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He tried to disguise his smile and failed. “My king's wish is my command.”

Rhaegar's lip twitched while Dany suppressed a grin. They all knew this meant much to Viserys, even though he wouldn't want that acknowledged. “Do keep in mind”, Dany said, “that this means interacting with the rest of the council.”

He sighed. “If it cannot be helped. Now, brother, while you are so well-disposed towards me, I was wondering if we could do anything about Lord Tully -”

“Lord Tully is on his deathbed”, Rhaegar interrupted. “I understand that you feel slighted, but there is no revenge to be taken on a man whose natural death is a matter of a few moons. It would also do you well to not blame Ser Edmure; he was as young as you when this all took place.”

After having grown up as friends, the altogether unhappy marriage between Viserys and Lysa had significantly hurt their relationship. Viserys was looking decidedly more gloomy already and seemed about to say something when the rattle of Ser Barristan's armour interrupted them. “Lord Arryn, Your Graces.”

It was almost imperceptible how an irritated line appeared on Rhaegar's face. “Very well.”

Arryn walked in slowly. “My king. A fine victory, from what I have heard.”

“My lord Hand. Please sit.” The longer he clung to life, the more likely Dany thought it that Rhaegar would give in to Elia's demands and discretely hasten his demise. “A victory, yes, but with a cost. You have been informed of Lord Velaryon's tragic passing, as well as Ser Oswell and Prince Lewyn.”

“Tragic indeed.” Arryn poured himself wine with shaking hands. “They were all brave men whose memory will be cherished until the end of days. Has Your Grace considered their replacements? I must admit I have given some thought to a new master of ships -”

Viserys made no effort to conceal his smugness. “No need, my lord. He sits before you.”

The Hand was far past trying to politely conceal his disapproval. “Are you certain, my king?”, he asked Rhaegar.

“Quite so”, he said. “As to the Kingsguard, Ser Loras Tyrell already wears the white cloak; he showed himself to be worthy of it during the battle. As per Lord Baratheon's suggestion, I will give another to Ser Andrew Estermont. This leaves, of course, the last spot to be filled, if my lord would like to give a suggestion.”

“Several”, Arryn said, and it emerged that he had come with a list on a piece of parchment. Dany was sure that it skewed heavily towards the Vale. “There is another matter that Your Graces may not be aware of. A few days ago, a man arrived from the East, claiming to have come on Princess Daenerys' invitation.” This was, indeed, news to her. “Neither I nor the queens were entirely willing to believe this, hence we confined him to a comfortable cell.”

“I do have a fair few friends in Essos”, she remarked, trying to understand who might have reacted to her letters by setting sail for King's Landing.

“Undoubtedly, Your Grace, but this man cannot be considered a friend. Had he not immediately revealed his identity, we would have found out and thrown him into a black cell instead – because he says he is Lysono Maar, the allegedly _former_ spymaster of the Golden Company.”

They received him in the throne room, though court wasn't called. There were only Rhaegar on the Iron Throne, Dany, Elia, Ser Barristan, and Lord Arryn.

Lysono Maar knelt before the king, which meant that he had either truly left the Golden Company or was committed to the act. “Your Grace”, he said in excellent Common, “it is an honour to be in your presence, and I must express my gratitude for the comfort in which I was held.” The cells at the top of the tower were meant for highborn prisoners.

“We treat our guests with kindness”, Rhaegar replied, “even when we suspect them to be spies. You will understand why this was our immediate assumption.”

“A fair assessment”, Maar admitted. Dany truly was confused by his presence, though she'd at least been able to confirm that this was exactly the man she'd poisoned back before the gates of Tyrosh. “Yet, if I was attempting to infiltrate your court the way your fair and royal sister so cleverly infiltrated the camp of my former employers, I would not do so by coming to the main gate and announcing my identity.”

Dany looked to Elia, who seemed bemused. She wasn't surprised that Maar had learned who she really was: After all, she _had_ overflown some of his (possibly former) brothers on Dāero, and there was only one person in the known world who rode a black dragon. “So why are you here, Lysono Maar?”, she asked, stepping forward. “The Golden Company did not strike me as an organisation one can easily leave.”

He smiled up at her. “Princess Daenerys. It is a pleasure to see you as you truly are. And to hear you speak the truth – the Golden Company truly does not appreciate what it considers desertion, even though other bands of sellswords will let a man go after serving his contract.”

“This means you deserted”, Lord Arryn cut in. “No matter who you deserted, this is not something we look upon kindly in Westeros.” He turned to Rhaegar. “This man cannot be trusted.”

“If his lordship were to let me finish my explanations”, Maar went on, “he may be interested to hear of the reason for my so-called desertion. I must say that Princess Daenerys' actions not only showed great daring, but also fulfilled the purpose I assume was behind them. Captain-general Strickland's death has thrown the Golden Company into complete disarray.”

Dany did her best not to look surprised, nor to triumphantly grin at Elia. While she hadn't considered this and hadn't even planned to kill Strickland to begin with, she was sure that all would be happy to play along. “Is this your way of saying”, Elia asked, “that there were competing factions attempting to replace him, and yours lost?”

“There were competing factions indeed”, he explained. “Though I was part of none. You must understand that there is much disagreement in the ranks – the Golden Company is no longer the unified force of exiled Westerosi knights it once was. Some hold true to the Blackfyre cause or wish to regain the lands their ancestors lost, others believe that Maelys' death ended all their obligation in this regard. Many are Essosi and have no interest in who rules Westeros.” His eyes went back to Dany. “While I agree with the latter view, I had no chance to prove this. The fact that I lived while Harry Strickland died convinced many that I had been part of Her Grace's scheme. As such, I am less a deserter than I am a fugitive escaping an unjust death sentence.”

Lord Arryn huffed while Dany got another look from Elia. _See all the things you hadn't considered?_ , it said.

Maar went on: “After my escape, I hoped against hope that I may find safety with my former mistress, Marea Pandaerys, as she was sure to be unhappy with the princess' impersonation of herself. While this much was true, she also told me to leave Lys immediately, lest a slow and agonising death would await. Before I made it out of the first magister's palace, her daughter approached me with the notice that the Iron Throne was looking for information on one Euron Greyjoy.” Still kneeling, he spread out his arms. “As it happens, I am in possession of such information, and know many other useful things besides. It is my hope that you will take me into your service, good king, as this land is my only chance of shielding myself from the Golden Company's wrath.”

Dany found herself believing him. “You must be aware”, Elia said, “that we already have a master of whisperers.”

Maar nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I do not presume to take his place, and fully understand that I could never sit on this small council – not as a foreigner, and even less so as one who once served the Golden Company. Still, I could be of use.”

With everything else said, they waited for the king's verdict. “You shall meet my master of whisperers”, he concluded. “Marwyn is a man of many skills. He will examine every detail of what you have just told us. If you spoke true, I will consider taking you into my employ. If not, your life is forfeit, and there will be no time given for you to attempt yet another escape.”

Lysono Maar bowed his head. “Your Grace shows great mercy.”

_Jaehaerys_

“It is in your blood”, his mother said. “Wolf blood, blood of the dragon – whatever you wish to call it. A certain ferocity is to be expected.”

“Ferocity in fighting.” He leaned back against the weirwood's trunk, thinking that the calm of the godswood was so different from that battle. “Burning those ships was another thing; that was not even a fight. I still enjoyed it.”

“I will not lie to you.” She took his hand. “I know the feeling you speak of; I feel it when I give sacrifice to the gods. Even more, this was something you had to do. I am sure that you, like your father, would not enjoy an execution, but this was a different situation.”

He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.” This was exactly what he'd wanted to hear: exoneration on his mother's part, from her who'd taught him honour.

Well, perhaps not the kind of honour that someone like his uncle Ned followed; the kind she'd grown up with, but rather one seen through a Targaryen lens.

“Truth be told, I could and would have burned all of them if it meant putting this behind us quickly”, he said. “We have better things to do. Now Uncle Ned is at the Wall trying to speak to the free folk when it was I who brought them there, and who they trust at least a little. How is he getting on?”

“Just about.” She sighed. “For once, the Stark name does not help. It is rather the opposite.”

“I can imagine.” Jaehaerys tried to picture Tormund's face when he heard who'd come to speak in his stead. “Well, hopefully it will not be much longer. We sail for Pyke, kill Euron along with everyone else who does not want the Lady Asha to rule, and then I fly straight to Castle Black.”

She smiled at him. “There is still the matter of your wedding.”

“We can do that on the way.” He wasn't too eager for a large ceremony like Aegon and Rhae had had, and knew that Dany wouldn't particularly care either. The coin was better spent elsewhere. “I want to wed before a heart tree anyway.”

“Without me there? I forbid it.” She'd said it quite resolutely, and he grinned.

“But Mother, I am a man grown, a prince, and a knight for some reason. You can hardly forbid me to wed my royally sanctioned betrothed.”

“I can, as your queen.” She sat up straighter as she let go of his hand, and Jaehaerys had to admit that she took on the queenly mantle with ease.

He shrugged. “One of two queens.”

“Elia would agree with me, and your father has never been able to deny us both.” That, he knew to be true. “I have but one demand for your wedding, and that is that I will be there. As far as everything else is concerned, we can do it before an isolated weirwood in the wolfswood for all I care.”

That did sound good. Just him, Dany, his mother... and his father, Aegon and Rhae, Elia, even Viserys.

Perhaps the guest list would not be so short after all. “Fine”, he said. “We will see when and where.” After this war, anyway, because the truth they all wanted to ignore was that they needed to see if Aegon survived it all, and otherwise would wed Jaehaerys and Rhae.

But the idea of his brother dying wasn't something he wanted to contemplate. “I will travel north either way”, she announced. “Your father has long made clear that both Elia and I are to stay far away from any fighting whenever it occurs, but if you believe the war for the dawn is near, then I need to be at least north of the Neck – and Elia does not need me to rule in your father's stead.”

He could see that. To have the northern queen at Winterfell would at least offer some boost to morale. “I assume you will be travelling by land”, he said.

“Obviously. You know how I feel about ships at the best of times.” Sitting on the tree's roots, she turned towards its face, looking up at the slowly seeping sap. “Your father and I made the gods turns this oak into a weirwood, Jaehaerys”, she said. “I never told you how.”

“I have my suspicions.” He raised his hand to dip a finger into the sap. “Blood?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And they say Aegon is the bright one. You know I was meant to wed Robert Baratheon before your father won my hand because the gods had told him to. You know he was no friend of ours after the tourney at Harrenhal, and that he died not long after we deposed your grandfather.”

“Well, as you said, Aegon _is_ the bright one.” He began to understand. “He has always been convinced you had your hand in this, though Rhae and I argued it was sorcery, and he believes you could have hired an assassin.”

His mother frowned slightly when a weirwood leaf floated down from above. “Autumn”, she announced as she caught it. “What does Dany believe?”

“Dany thinks there is little use in us arguing over what might have happened when we could have always just asked.”

She smiled. “I see. Well, it was the gods. We killed nine men already condemned to death as an offering, and they made Robert fall down the stairs and break his neck.” She looked at him directly, still holding the leaf. “Nine men who deserved it died. An enemy died because of it. As I cut the last man's throat – the former Grand Maester Pycelle, partly responsible for your father's most obvious scar – I felt ecstasy.” She was straightening the leaf in her hands, would undoubtedly keep it. “Violence if committed against an enemy or in sacrifice to the gods is no sin.”

“I suppose so.” He looked up, the tree's still-full crown obscuring the view of the sky. “A good thing that the only war that matters will be free of any such questions. As long as we can get the free folk south of the Wall peacefully, that is.”

They could hear steps approaching through the godswood. “Do you believe they can be convinced at all?”

“Mance Rayder?”, he asked back. “Perhaps. But he is more bound to his people's whims than our king, and they are very set in their ways. Aegon once said that many questions come down to choosing between freedom and security – they will choose freedom, always.”

“Well, we can still offer them greater freedom than the Others.” She was still looking at the leaf when she added: “Ser Arthur.”

“Your Graces.” The knight stepped onto the clearing. “Rhaegar wants both of you in Marwyn's study. They have spoken to the Lysene spymaster.”

“Who?”, Jaehaerys asked as he rose.

His mother tucked the weirwood leaf into her gown. “Oh, he appeared while you were gone and claimed to come on Dany's behalf – after having served in the Golden Company.”

He helped her up. “She did mention encountering him.” Jaehaerys had to smile. If they had Blackfyre _and_ the Golden Company's spymaster because of it, then his father and the queens could no longer complain about Dany's adventure.


	18. The Seastone Chair II

_Banefort_

_Aegon_

“What exactly are we looking for?”, Jae asked as they descended the stairs; only the four of them and two torches catching in Aegon's own and in Dany's hair.

Rhae, leading the group, glanced back with a mischievous smile. “Knowledge. What else?”

“Is this going to be just like Shandystones?”, Dany asked. “You look at old and broken things while it is left to the rest of us to plan our way back?”

“Well, that _is_ why I brought you along.” Another turn down the steps.

Jae was the last behind Aegon. “I believe this will be more like Winterfell. You want an adventure down in the crypts, but find none.”

“The crypts at Winterfell are fascinating”, Aegon pointed out, fondly remembering the endless statues of long-dead Starks and the glimpse into the past they offered. “I can only hope the Baneforts have something similar. They _are_ a House of the First Men.”

Dany only sighed. “If all we find are statues and tombs – and I take this to be a foregone conclusion – then I reserve the right to return to the Great Hall without any of you complaining at me.”

They weren't at Banefort to feast, of course; they were here because it was the closest castle to Pyke the mainland had to offer. Lord Quenten had laid out a splendid supper to impress the king nonetheless.

They reached what appeared to be the bottom of the stairs into the crypts. To the right, a corridor led into the unknown – and to the left, a door. Rhae pulled at it experimentally to discover it wasn't locked, then had to lean back as she opened it; old wood scratching against the stone floor.

She craned her neck with the torch into the darkness and announced: “More stairs!”

As his wife went on down with a spring in her step, the rest followed. “Everyone in the Great Hall would be thrilled at your return”, Jae took up the interrupted conversation. “Except for Lady Plumm.”

“That was not the Lady Plumm”, Aegon pointed out. “Merely Ser Dennis' wife.”

“Well, that changes everything.” His brother sounded disgruntled.

They could hear the smile in Dany's voice. “Are you jealous because Ser Dennis made eyes at me? You must be aware that this could only be avoided by locking me in the Maidenvault. Besides, I saw you speaking to the Westerling girl. She was not unaffected by your charms.”

Rhae groaned. “Few are, and what does it matter? Jealousy does not become either of you.” They reached another door, even older and heavier, so Aegon helped her open it.

He knew just why they were here. They entered the corridor now open to them, torches raised, and saw that they had now surely reached the crypts: Tomb after tomb lined the walls, though there was a disappointing lack of statues.

“House Banefort”, Rhae announced while reverently walking past the first few, “once ruled as the Hooded Kings. In their heyday, they were said to be powerful necromancers.”

“ _Said_ to be”, Aegon emphasised – even as Jae stopped in his tracks.

“What do you wish to achieve here, Rhae? I have seen the dead raised. It is not pretty.”

Dany arched an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the two as Rhae crossed her arms. “Surely”, she said, “this kind of knowledge could be of use – if we could find it here, which I doubt.”

“Oh, I am not expecting to uncover any ancient magic”, Rhae explained as she walked further into the darkness. “But are you not curious at all? They say that Morgon Banefort fought Loreon Lannister for twenty years.”

“They _say_ ”, Aegon pointed out again. “We do not know if any of the legends from the Age of Heroes are even remotely true.”

“There is truth and there is _truth_. And if that war lasted eight-and-ten years instead, what difference does it make?” The light flickered as she gesticulated with her torch. “It is obvious that the Baneforts once fought and were subdued by the Lannisters, else the latter would not have been the Kings of the Rock until we came along. Now, is it true that the Hooded Kings were necromancers, or is it a legend either made up by the Lannisters to vilify the Baneforts, or by House Banefort themselves to stoke fear and awe? I do not know. I still am interested in seeing their graves.”

With that, she turned. Aegon was happy to come along, although the steps behind them were more hesitant.

“Legend says Morgon Banefort's body was fed to Loreon Lannister's lions”, Jae said. “Years later, the lions attacked and killed some of his sons. What I am saying is: Has anyone thought to bring their sword?”

“Oh, come on”, Dany sighed. “The ancient Baneforts will not come out of their tombs to attack us – even if they could, why would they? All this happened long before our House set foot on Westerosi soil.”

Jae only made a hard-to-place sound as they walked further into the crypts. They weren't dissimilar from Winterfell's, Aegon thought, though they were lacking the swords placed upon the tombs of dead Starks.

The statues, however, eventually made an appearance. His brother froze when the first became visible, cursing under his breath.

“Do not laugh at me”, Jae said when it had been established that it truly was only the first of many statues, ignoring the fact that none of them had found it even remotely funny. “Once you all see wights, you will understand.”

“We are not laughing”, Aegon said gently, casting a glance back at Jae's needlessly defiant face. “After what you have seen beyond the Wall, you are right to be cautious.”

Dany walked up to the statue. “I do not believe that he was truly that fearsome”, she declared, looking into the face under its hood. “Though there is little reason to show him as he was not, considering that this likeness would not be seen by many.”

The face showed a scowl. “Do we suppose this was Morgon?”, Jae asked. “I would like to point out that his tomb is empty. Either this _was_ Morgon and they left it as such because they had no body to bury, or some undead Banefort is about to attack us from the shadows.”

Aegon took Rhae's torch and crouched down by the empty tomb, finding an inscription. “Oh, how interesting”, he said as he stared at the signs. “Runes. Jae?”

His brother bent down next to him and Aegon removed some of the dust. “Morgon”, he announced. “Thank the gods.”

“Even if the stories are true”, Dany said, “that does not mean that there is any sorcery left here, nor that there would be reason to go against us. We are here with Lord Banefort's permission.”

Aegon thought that she'd said the last part more loudly, as if speaking to the dead around them.

Rhae took her torch back to stroll amongst the statues, looking at their hooded faces. “I do wonder how they did it”, she declared. “It stands to reason that their necromancy would be entirely different from that of the Others, considering that the latter are entirely non-human and must work outside any of the sorcerous paradigms known to us. There are tales of such magic from the east, and some from these shores as well.”

Jae rose again. “The only reason I have not long dragged all of you back upstairs is that I know the Others cannot reach us here, so I suppose you are right. Has your red priestess not taught you anything? I thought she was from Asshai.”

“She is.” Rhae sighed, running her fingers over a tomb. “But Melisandre is a fanatic. Necromancy is a power given by the Great Other, and she will not dabble in such unholy rites. This is different from a resurrection through the power of R'hllor, apparently, but that can only happen if He so decides.”

Aegon peeked inside Morgon's tomb. Lions had been engraved at the bottom, which he thought was a nice touch. “She has a point”, Jae said. “We are all better served if the dead stay dead, even if we miss them. They would not come back to us the same.”

He felt a knot at the back of his throat when he thought of those they'd lost at Lannisport. What wouldn't he give to return Alyn Connington to his grieving father?

If the silence that had fallen amongst their group was anything to go by, they were all thinking along similar lines. “You are right”, Rhae said, looking sad as she stared into the darkness. Aegon went over to her and put his hand around her shoulders.

There were countless more dead Baneforts to look at, he was sure, yet the notion had lost its appeal. “Let us return”, Dany said quietly. “There is more comfort to be found amongst the living.”

_Jaehaerys_

The next morning, they watched their ships prepare to sail on Pyke. The Redwyne fleet had significantly augmented their own, though it was mostly made up of trading vessels – but they'd overflown the Iron Islands and surrounding waters several times and found that there wouldn't be much of a resistance at sea. This was more about bringing their forces onto the islands than battling ships.

His father leaned against the battlements beside Jaehaerys. “We have taken Pyke before”, he said. “Without dragons. I cannot stress enough that you must leave immediately if you find any evidence that Maar is right.”

The Lysene spy had told them a great many things he'd heard about Euron Greyjoy over time. A large part they'd already known – that he'd spent years terrorising the known world's smaller coastal towns and remote islands – but there was a persistent rumour that he'd been to Valyria.

As incredible as this sounded, they had decided to take the possibility into account. Especially because Maar also said that the sailors of Essos told tales of a mysterious horn in his possession; one that he was said to claim could bind dragons. “I will”, Jaehaerys said. “We all will. Trust me, Father, there is no prospect as fearful as that of losing your dragon.”

“Good.” The king cast his eyes over their fleet, hundreds of ships and even more men; too many to fit into Banefort's harbour all at once. “There might not be a need to use them quite as much, nor for the large battle we could fight – not all ironborn lords love Euron.”

Jaehaerys could imagine that. “They fear him, I presume.”

“Naturally. But do they fear him more than three dragons?” He turned to him. “Your mother told me you were disturbed by the way you felt during the battle.”

“Somewhat”, he said. “It should not be enjoyable to wield this much terrible, destructive power. At least I am certain that I did not enjoy the act of burning those men, but it did feel good to be able to do it, if that makes sense.”

“I am glad that it was not the fire itself you revelled in.” The way his father said it, it was clear that he was thinking back to the king he'd deposed. “It is unsurprising that you would like being atop a dragon and burning those below. It is what you were born to do, after all.”

“Burning wights”, he said. “They are dead already, and to end them is to free them. I would not mind aiming at an Other or two either.”

The king nodded slowly. “You will. Everyone enjoys power, Jaehaerys. I do. I do not like myself in those moments, but I will tell you that I have often felt great satisfaction in vanquishing a foe, one way or another. All I can say is that I suppose it is good to have doubts about this – it shows you are unlike our crueller ancestors.”

He thought that was likely true. Jaehaerys thought about what Rhae had done to stop Euron, and how fitting their father's verdict had been then. “Ultimately”, he said, “you believe that we need to do anything necessary in order to win the war for the dawn, do you not? Anything is justified if it means we end this war quickly and can turn to the one that truly matters.”

“Yes.” The king looked at him; through him, then decided: “And so do you.”

He did.

_Daenerys_

“You look mournful, sweet sister.”

She was set for another flight over the Iron Islands, but had decided to enjoy a moment of solitude with the dragons. It was a short ride from the castle to their lair, and there weren't many who dared come close to them.

Not that this applied to their House. “I am wondering”, Dany said as she watched him dismount (clumsily with one arm), “how many more will fall in this coming fight.”

“Some, no doubt.” The dragons barely reacted to Viserys' arrival, though Vēzos turned his head and gave a short snort as a greeting. “I have come to bid you goodbye, as I do not believe you will return from your flight before we set sail. A master of ships must be in the middle of it all.”

As during the last battle, the dragons would remain by the castle until their fleet reached Pyke. There was no use in letting them circle above the ships with no place to rest.

“I take it you are happy with your new position?” Dany sat down on the tip of Dāero's wing.

“Delighted. It was about time I received some recognition.” He sat next to her. “Are you sad or fearful?”

“Both.” She looked down into her lap, all dressed in leather for the flight. “Are you not?”

It took Viserys a moment to answer. “Of course I mourn them”, he then admitted. “Ser Oswell and Prince Lewyn – they had always been there. Oswell used to teach me fighting even when our father still reigned, and looking back, he did as much to shield me from his madness as our mother had.” Dany swallowed as she imagined the terrible first few years of his life; locked up in Maegor's under the control of King Aerys. “And I will never forget the night Lewyn picked me up and smuggled me out of the Red Keep into Rhaegar's camp. It is difficult to comprehend that they are gone, but at least they died fighting. They were knights, after all.”

“You are all knights”, she said, meaning the men in their family. “Surely, you do not want to fall at Pyke.”

Viserys snorted. “Against some unwashed ironborn with a rusty axe? Of course not. Rhaegar cannot die because no one in the realm would know what to do without him, and the rest of us are too young.”

She only hoped he was right. Then Dany narrowed her eyes at him. “You have been very kind recently.”

He shrugged, not even bothering to take offence. “I have not seen my wife in several moons and have just been made master of ships. Now all I need is for her to unexpectedly die so I can wed another and finally have a son.”

Dany couldn't imagine being wed to someone she wanted dead. Also: “I thought she was with child again.”

Viserys sighed and tucked at the sling around his arm. “I have lost all hope, to be frank. Why would it work now? Another miscarriage or stillbirth; nothing else.”

“You were born after – what, five of our brothers and sisters who never lived?” She shook her head. “And please tell me you have not taken any steps to have her killed.” That would certainly explain his high spirits.

“Not exactly.” The way he said it made her eyes dart to him, finding a self-satisfied grin. “There is no reason to look at me like that. I have merely decided to take her old lover into my employ; that Vale lord. With a bit of luck, the old flames will be rekindled. That should at the very least serve as grounds for annulment.”

“Splendid”, Dany said flatly. She had to admit that she thought the plan had merit, though an attempt to provoke his wife into adultery was exactly the kind of thing she'd hoped Viserys wouldn't be interested in doing anymore. “Have you already set things in motion?”

“I will once this is done. The ravens are very much reserved for the war as it stands.” He looked up to the sky and rose. “I need to get back and organise this fleet of ours.”

“And I need to see what awaits you.” She wanted to just keep sitting here, but instead Dany got up and drew Viserys into a careful hug. “I will see you in battle, brother. Though I do not believe you should be there.” She nodded at his broken arm.

Viserys sighed. “ _Just_ like Rhaegar. I am meant to command some of our men, but to stay behind and far away from any fighting.”

“Please do. This is not the time to play at being Aemon the Dragonknight.” Dany kissed his cheek. “Either way, the day will be ours. We will raze Pyke to the ground if we have to.”


	19. The Seastone Chair III

_Ten Towers_

_Jaehaerys_

The castle certainly lived up to its name.

He wondered if its lord would comply with expectations just as well. Upon approach, Jaehaerys noticed no archers nor siege weapons aiming at his dragon, which he took as a good sign.

He had Rhovio circle the towers a few times in close proximity, waiting for Rodrik Harlaw to come out. As he'd met the man before when he visited King's Landing, he knew he was the one who emerged from the largest tower, stepping out onto a narrow balcony towards the top.

Jaehaerys landed Rhovio on the roof. It might have made for easier conversation to dismount, but this was not a curtesy visit, so he had his dragon crane down his neck and leaned forward.

“Lord Harlaw!”, he called out from above, glad that the winds were quiet enough for the man to hear him. “I believe Euron Greyjoy expects you at Pyke.”

Lord Rodrik didn't appear fearful of the dragon – and bowed. “He does”, he shouted back. “But I received differing instructions from the king.”

Good. Out of all the lords that Jaehaerys, Dany, and Rhae were visiting, he was the one whose support they'd been most sure of, though Lord Goodbrother was a close contender (one heard he hadn't appreciated Euron's claims against his late daughter). “Your niece sends her regards”, the prince replied. “Do you support her claim?”

“She is Balon Greyjoy's last living child, and Lord Theon's rightful heir.” Followers of the Drowned God considered it blasphemy to spill the blood of other ironborn; something difficult to avoid in battle. There was hardly a way around it for Lady Asha, but considering that there was little need of their forces, his father had allowed any of the lords supporting her to simply stay out of things.

“Euron's revenge will be terrible if we lose”, Jaehaerys pointed out.

Harlaw glanced towards Rhovio's head. “I doubt you will, and have no wish to see Ten Towers become a new Harrenhal. Nor do I want to see Euron rule.”

Jaehaerys wondered which of his nephews and cousins Lord Rodrik would propose as Lady Asha's husband once all was done. “Then the Crown commends your wisdom”, he concluded. “You will be called to Pyke when we settle the aftermath.”

Lord Harlaw bowed again, and Rhovio took off. Jaehaerys had a few more castles to visit on this isle while Dany and Rhae covered the others – and all the while, he knew the battle was set to begin.

_Pyke, a few hours later_

_Daenerys_

The walls had been breached with ease, mostly because the dragons had had no trouble picking off the defenders. They'd had to recon with a few trebuchets hurling large rocks at them, but only until Dany had taken Dāero on a steep dive from behind and turned them into ash.

The Great Keep, too, had fallen, though some of their men were still searching it for any holdouts. There was still battle just behind the walls, where she'd last seen both Aegon and Rhae, while the king was fighting his way through the covered bridge leading to the Guest Keep. Dāero was perched upon the Guest Keep's roof as Dany tried to see what was happening on the bridge, while behind her, Jae and Rhovio were atop the Kitchen Keep. This bridge wasn't covered, and their presence successfully deterred any of the defenders from trying to find safety there.

Yet, she couldn't tell what was happening below her. Surely, things would be much easier for her side if Dāero could help them fight their way across the narrow bridge; too easy to defend in a space so small that numbers made no matter – so she had him lean down, ripping part of the covering off with his teeth.

They'd decided not to _destroy_ Pyke, else Lady Asha would have no place to rule from. Yet, Dany supposed that she wouldn't complain about a bit of roof going missing.

The pieces fell into the sea far below as the defenders stared up in shock, one of them rather accidentally impaled on Dāero's tooth. It wasn't this was made her breath hitch, however – it was that a man in black armour was fighting one in a golden cloak and with a kraken helm, wielding an axe with astonishing force.

It wasn't Rhaegar he was fighting, she realised with a pang of fear. Rhaegar was taller, she knew where everyone else was, and this man's left arm wasn't doing enough to support his right as he parried the blows.

This was _Viserys_. Why was he here? He was injured, that fool.

Dany had to help, but how? She barely paid Dāero any mind while he opened up more of the bridge to their view. She couldn't use her dragon in such a targetted way; he and the Greyjoy man (Victarion? Aegon had described him like this) were too close. She had to get off, maybe run down Dāero's neck to attack Victarion from behind –

Everything froze as the killing blows fell. Victarion's axe came from Viserys' left, he tried to block the shaft with his arm but it gave in, the axehead reached the point where his shoulders met his neck and hit his gorget with a force that would've penetrated cheaper armour, causing her brother to stumble back. And then Victarion struck again, and Dany had to see with horrible clarity just how _strong_ the blows were, and that all the plate in the world couldn't protect the man beneath. Viserys went down; his bones had to be broken now, and Victarion struck again and again and her brother was on the ground and no longer moved; didn't even try to fend him off and wasn't holding his sword anymore and that was obviously because he was –

Dany screamed, Dāero roared, and neither sound could drown out the fact that she knew her brother was dead. Ser Barristan came into view from under the roof – _useless._ If Rhaegar hadn't appeared next, Dany would have incinerated the entire bridge, Kingsguard be damned.

She could tell exactly when he understood the situation, because the next moment she felt his eyes on her and the dragon even though she couldn't see into the slits of his visor. He shoved Ser Barristan out of the way, hooked his sword under the head of Victarion's axe ( _which had just killed their brother_ ) and twisted it out of his hands. He could've slain him, now; everyone on the bridge was waiting to see if the king would prevail or if Victarion had another weapon – but Rhaegar's stabs were designed to drive Victarion back; stumbling over Viserys' body and further towards his own men.

Could the bridge bear Dāero's weight? Dany had no idea, and she didn't care. He landed atop it with his full body, crushing several men below.

She didn't want to burn him, because that would've been quick. He'd killed Viserys.

Dāero's jaws felt like her own when they closed around Victarion's shoulder, separating his arm. The man watched in horror as her dragon hurled it into the sky, roasted it with a gust of flame, and devoured it; plate and all. Lannisport had shown that this didn't pose any problems for the dragons' digestion, and Dany morbidly wondered if they enjoyed the crunch.

Now it was Victarion who was screaming, and those of his men who were left were pressing to the sides of the bridge, even fleeing in Rhaegar's direction. Nobody was fighting anymore – what for? What could they achieve? All anyone could do was watch.

What they did on that bridge was nothing to be proud of, but it was the only way her grief would go. Victarion Greyjoy died as slowly and painfully as the situation allowed, losing all limbs as well as both his eyes by both Dāero's jaws and Rhaegar's blades. She wasn't sure how much of it he lived through, but Dany knew her _rage_ , and that a crime as high as that of killing one of their own could not receive any lesser punishment.

When they were done with Victarion and Dāero was feasting on the rest of his torso, Rhaegar turned to one of the other ironborn fighters. Petrified by fear, he didn't even try to defend himself.

Dany climbed down onto the bridge, running towards Viserys. His eyes stared blankly to the sky; all life gone, his neck twisted terribly.

She felt herself shaking as she knelt over him, raised her head to stare at their speechless men behind. She hadn't been able to see what they'd been doing while he fought Victarion; knew that there'd likely been a host of good reasons that nobody had been able to step in.

Still, they hadn't, and now her brother was dead. Dany rose so abruptly that a few of their own took some cautious steps back, then turned and marched towards what was left of the ironborn defenders.

Soon enough, their blood and guts would be covering her entire armour. Would this bring Viserys back? No. But she knew for certain that it was what he would've wanted.

_Aegon_

“Euron!”, Lady Asha screamed. “Where the fuck are you, you craven piece of shit?”

It was a valid question. They were between Pyke's walls and the Great Keep, finishing off the rest of the defenders out here while the king (and, worryingly, Viserys) had already stormed the castle.

“I'll get you, Crow's Eye”, she continued, stalking towards the conquered gatehouse with both Oberyn and Obara hard on her heels. “And when I do, I'll make you wish I were a kinslayer.”

From the little he understood of ironborn culture, Aegon thought she was doing quite well in terms of the bravado.

He slew the enormously ugly man who he'd met during their first visit to Pyke – the master-at-arms, he remembered, though even his skills couldn't protect him from Blackfyre. Loras, Sarella, and Ser Adrian were fighting beside him and Ser Renly actually emerged from within the Great Keep; all his injuries from Lannisport minor enough to warrant his presence now.

“Kingsguard!”, he shouted from the gatehouse, pointing inside.

While those around Aegon looked to Ser Renly, it was on him to protect Loras from an axe coming in from the side – truly, he'd eventually need to have words with him.

“My prince.” Ser Adrian looked to him. “We must enter the keep -”

But Aegon spied something towards the walls that caught his attention. “Ser Loras”, he decided, “go. Ser Adrian, with us.”

Amidst all the confusion of the fight, a group of four hooded men was riding for the gate. Not the gatehouse, but the walls – he'd spotted them before; fighting their way through, but was increasingly sure that they were heading for the way out.

It wasn't necessarily strange, he supposed. Here, there was death and destruction; it was natural to want to flee, and the only way to do so was past the gate the royal side had long forced open.

And yet, they didn't seem to be fleeing, exactly. Aegon had noticed one of the men slay a soldier from the Westerlands, and next an ironborn fighter who clearly hadn't expected it.

There were riderless horses all around, either because their knights had fallen or because they'd merely dismounted to enter the keep. He'd need them to follow the group, though his efforts to pick up a horse were significantly hampered when they heard the long, agonised roar of a dragon.

Aegon looked up in shock, though he couldn't see past the Great Keep. Rhae was above them on Vēzos, who hadn't been the originator of the cry.

He wasn't the only one who'd frozen for a heartbeat as all searched the skies for the sight of – what? An injured or dying dragon? He couldn't even contemplate the thought.

After a moment, it emerged that whatever had happened wouldn't become clear to anyone here for a while. Thus Aegon fought on beside Ser Adrian and Sarella so they could pick up three horses, worry at the back of his mind.

“Your Grace”, Ser Adrian said once they'd gained some space around them, “what are you doing?”

Aegon had caught a riderless horse bearing the sigil of House Brax. “See those men?” He pointed towards them, noticing that their mounts were the scraggly kind that seemed to be the only type on these islands. “We will follow them.”

Sarella, bearing a spear and a shortsword alongside her usual goldenheart bow, looked out from under her visorless helmet. “Euron”, she announced.

Aegon was about to ask her how she knew when one of the men turned to glance back at the keep. He couldn't see much of his face, but he was certain there was an eyepatch.

“Right”, Aegon said, swiftly mounting the horse. “Get yourselves something to ride on.”

Euron and those he was with had almost made it to the gate. Was this folly?, Aegon wondered.

Looking back, the answer should have been much more obvious to him.

By the time they made it out the walls, Euron and the others had come far, riding across the rugged landscape at surprising speed. Sarella stopped for a moment while Aegon and Ser Adrian rode on – and the next instant, a golden arrow shot past them and pierced one of the men's necks.

He fell, so if they hadn't known that they were being pursued before, this was now certainly the case. Yet the other three rode on without sparing their companion as much as a glance.

Where to? Were they truly fleeing the battle? It had obviously been lost – was Euron headed for the _Silence_ , where he'd presumably left its crew?

Aegon thought this was a workable assumption. He pressed his spurs into the sides of the horse, considering: If Sarella picked off another, it was them three against two. If she managed to hit _Euron_ , things would essentially be over. If she didn't, it was even, though he had no idea how well these men could fight and _did_ know that he had a knight of the Kingsguard, an oft-underestimated Sand Snake, and a sword of Valyrian steel at his side.

Either way, Euron couldn't be allowed to escape once more.

They rode on, the sounds of the battle fading into the distance as Aegon and the others got ever-closer to catching up. They seemed to be riding towards a small building; barely a shed.

Sarella stopped once more to shoot another arrow and missed. Aegon couldn't get the feeling that this was a phenomenally stupid thing to do out of his mind – but they _couldn't_ let Euron escape. What was more, he heard the flapping of very large wings above and was quite certain that Rhae had come to follow them.

The next time Sarella stopped, one of Euron's group did the same – and turned to them while holding a crossbow he'd had under his cloak.

Well. It was clear that man only had one shot, and they were moving targets. Aegon pressed close to the horse's neck and carried on until he heard a cry behind him.

He spun around in the saddle, seeing that Ser Adrian had been hit under his right shoulder. He was just now still clinging on to his reins, but this wouldn't last.

In front of them, the man who'd shot the bolt was already on the ground, Sarella's arrow poking out of his eye.

 _Two against two_ , he thought, knowing he had no time to worry for Ser Adrian. But then there was a screech above, and Aegon changed his calculation: Two and a _dragon_ against two.

“Stay with him!”, he shouted at Sarella, pointing up. He wouldn't need her if he had Vēzos and Rhae.

Euron, too, could be seen looking at the skies. Aegon couldn't tell what was on his face in that moment, but he wondered if it was fear.

_Rhaenys_

Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Something was wrong – she'd heard Dāero's cry earlier; had seen Dany and her father on that bridge, but she hadn't been able to tell what had happened. It couldn't have been good, however; not from the way it had sounded.

And now there was Aegon, charging at Euron alone as if he'd lost all his wits. Rhaenys understood: The Crow's Eye had to be killed or captured. But whatever was happening now couldn't be an accident.

She was most worried about the shed they seemed to be riding towards. The dragons didn't want to come near him, but Rhaenys was convinced that the best course of action would be to simply sweep down and burn it. Either it was harmless, in which case she would ultimately destroy a shed with a few farming tools and hay, or it contained something Euron intended to use.

However, this first required fighting with her own dragon. Vēzos hovered far above while none of her attempts to urge him down did anything – usually, a thought was enough for her to tell him where to go. Now, he very well understood her intention, but clearly disagreed with it.

“ _Kostilus”_ , she kept whispering; _please_ , trying to somehow stroke his scales. Now that they were directly above, Rhaenys couldn't even see what exactly was happening. _“Aegot baelās!”_

Even her pleas to help didn't do much as Vēzos kept his distance. If he'd at least let her see –

Apparently, that much could be done, as her dragon flew a circle that allowed her to look down past his wings.

She could see Sarella and Ser Adrian still in the same spot; much too far away to intervene in anything. Euron and his remaining man were just now reaching the shed, Aegon was coming perilously close.

Rhaenys was in a battle of wills with a manse-sized mountain of muscle, claw, and flame. “Vēzos!”, she now screamed at him, hitting onto scales that were larger than her hands and wishing for a whip or _anything_ , _“avy jorepan_ ” – _I beg you_ , and then Rhaenys thought that she shouldn't be begging him because she was the rider and Aegon was in danger.

This realisation didn't bring her anywhere, however, until Euron actually reached the shed and it seemed almost too late. The doors sprung open and men stormed out, at least a dozen of them – Aegon tried to slow his horse but it was clear that he couldn't escape them now. They were carrying something large, too, though Rhaenys didn't know what it was. It didn't matter, either, because fear now gripped her and it was so easy to see how all these men would overwhelm Aegon; perhaps _kill_ him and then – then what? The sheer terror of that thought made her feel like she may be ripped apart.

Perhaps it was the intensity of her feelings; perhaps he merely agreed with her assessment of the situation. Whatever the reason, Vēzos _finally_ deigned to move; dove right down and now everyone was too close for fire but she'd still be able to land him and slaughter all of them.

Aegon, surrounded by Euron's men, cut the first one down from atop his horse, but there was no chance he could possibly beat them all. Even less so when he suddenly looked up and seemed to see her, shouted something – maybe a _NO_ ; she wasn't sure.

It was then that she saw what she hadn't had eyes for before: the object they'd carried out of the shed was a very large horn. Everything Dany's Lysene spy had told them came back to Rhaenys.

Could it be true? When one of Euron's men blew the horn, the answer became clear.

It was the worst sound she'd ever heard. Worse than the sound of men dying in battle, worse than the wails of ladies she'd heard give birth in the Red Keep, worse than Dāero's mournful roar on the bridge at Pyke. It sounded like the pain and the fury Rhaenys felt as she looked down to see Aegon pulled off his horse.

Vēzos answered in kind, stopping his descent and buckling in the air. She could feel his rage and confusion; the way something pulled at him and their bond. The sound shook her bones, vibrated on her armour and in the dragon's flesh beneath her, drowned out all but the faintest shadow of Aegon's voice as he screamed at her to leave.

All gods above and below. Vēzos was in pain; writhing in the air in a way that threatened to make them both fall and possibly throw her off despite the chains that tied her to his body. Aegon was on the ground, his horse dead and Blackfyre at Euron's feet as men yanked off his helmet and beat him.

Still, she could see how he took a blow to his perfect face, was sure she could tell there was a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth despite the distance – and he looked to her, telling her to go.

Vēzos roared once more, spitting a golden flame into the air as if that would make the horn stop sounding.

 _Aegon_. Rhaenys screamed, too, because why not. She couldn't stand this. She couldn't _do_ this.

She had next to no control of her dragon, at least not while she forced him to be so close to the horn. Did she even have a way to save her brother and husband; her love? Not if Vēzos couldn't fight, that was clear. There were too many, Sarella was too far and would not have made a difference either, the rest of the army had to be unaware at the castle, she could only _hope_ none of the other dragons were on the way –

But Aegon. She could see them kick his head, felt the blow as if it had come down on herself, though she knew what he thought and was trying to tell her: _leave_. They wouldn't kill him – would they? Rhaenys wasn't half as sure as she wanted to be. There were obvious advantages in taking him prisoner if the Crow's Eye wanted to stay alive.

She could taste bile in her mouth when she finally told Vēzos to go up; felt his relief and the sobs shaking her chest. At least if she was no longer watching, they might have less reason to hurt Aegon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone reading this is like, really into High Valyrian grammar then feel free to correct me. I think “Aegot baelās” is right for “help Aegon” (Aegot being the dative of Aegon as long as it's in the same declension as other words ending in -on, and baelās being the imperative singular of baelagon (to help/aid)) . “Avy jorepan”: jorepan is the 1st person singular of jorepagon (to beg/pray), and avy the accusative of ao (singular you). However, I'm not sure if it shouldn't be dative (hence aōt) instead, you know?  
> … yeah it doesn't matter. 
> 
> Two things about the dragon horn. One: We know that whoever blows it dies while dragons will obey the one the horn is bound to – hence, Euron didn't blow it, while it's surely bound to him (which is also why in canon, Victarion doesn't stand a chance at gaining a dragon; the horn is already bound to Euron and Victarion won't be able to figure out how to change that even if he ever understands this).  
> Two: We don't actually know if/how it works beyond that. However, we do know that dragons only have one rider at a time, and that the only known reason for why that bond would be destroyed is the rider dying. Maybe Victarion will have the horn blown and will end up gaining a dragon for Euron in TWOW; I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure that if he does, it won't be Drogon even if Dany happens to be there at that time – because Drogon is already bound to her. In this story, all three dragons already have riders, which is why Euron's attempt to gain control of Vēzos ultimately failed. I don't think he could've known that in advance, or not with enough certainty to not at least try.


	20. The Seastone Chair IV

_Jaehaerys_

They were silent for a long moment, sitting in the damp, mouldy solar of the former Lord Reaper.

Pyke was a shithole; the worst place he'd ever been. Jaehaerys would rather be trudging through the snow beyond the Wall than be here.

“I am certain he lives”, the king finally said. The dim light and his exhaustion made his face look hollow. “Not because that is what I want to believe, nor because I think Euron would have any regard for his life. It is because I am sure that he would have let us know if he had killed him.”

Rhae, desperate and in tears, had landed on the castle when the battle had been good as done. They'd sent out everyone they could including all three dragons to look for Euron, Aegon, and the _Silence_ – and found nothing.

“He would have.” Rhae, just like the rest of them, had already cried all the tears she had. “We would have found him somewhere, horribly mutilated.”

Jaehaerys wanted to watch the dragons devour Euron bit by bit. Or perhaps kill him some other slow and painful way, drag him beyond the Wall, watch him come back as a wight, and then kill him again.

“The glass candle has shown nothing yet”, their father continued. “It has always been difficult to see him if he did not want us to. Which also means that we may soon need to see things we wish we could not.”

Dany was twisting strands of her hair into knots. “He wants to coax us”, she agreed. “The best way to find him somewhere out on the sea is by using a dragon, which is exactly what he wants. And even if our fleet meets him, he can always kill Aegon.” She shook her head, then, leaning back against her armchair with its frayed upholstery, knees drawn in. “Aegon is a hostage. There must be terms, else he would already be dead – and I, too, believe that we would know. If there are terms, Euron will ensure we understand them. We will hear from him.”

“That is what I dread.” The king's voice was flat. “But we must not despair. Aegon will return to us, Euron will die horribly. There is nothing left of Victarion to feast in the Drowned God's watery halls – but Euron will meet his god and answer for his sins.”

Jaehaerys almost didn't dare to speak the name, considering that to do so felt like making it all true, and yet: “What of Viserys?”

Though he'd seen the body, it was still difficult to believe he was dead. He hadn't been his favourite relative by far, but the idea that someone had _killed_ him and now he was gone was just wrong.

It took his father a moment. “A pyre is being prepared”, he said then. “We will burn him and have the ashes brought to Dragonstone to rest beside our royal mother and father.” There were tears in his eyes, which was deeply unsettling.

Very quietly, Dany said: “He should not have been there.”

“No”, the king agreed. “But he was, because he was so insistent on proving himself – I thought that making him master of ships would have been enough, but Viserys never _felt_ like he was enough, not ever – from his childhood locked into Maegor's onwards.” He drew a shaky breath. “I never thought I would outlive him.”

None of them knew what to do with their grief; not now that his killer was already gone. Rhae cleared her throat and her voice still came out hoarse: “What of Lysa? That is what Aegon would ask now.”

Jaehaerys almost winced because she was so right and it hurt. “We will see”, the king said. “We will wait for the birth of her child, living or dead, before making a decision. I doubt she will mourn him much.”

That was true, and the knowledge made him angry. Was it fair to expect Viserys' wife to be stricken by his death? Perhaps not. But still, Jaehaerys hoped she would at least be somewhat sad.

“Isn't it absurd”, Dany said then, “that we actually _won_?”

He couldn't help but laugh a little at that. She was right that victory had never tasted this rotten.

_Daenerys_

She found her on the battlements of the Guest Keep, looking down upon her new domain. A cold wind blew up here and the slightest drizzle of rain was in the air, coating everything with a fine sheer of wetness.

“My lady”, Dany said as she stepped out next to her, examining Asha Greyjoy's sharp features. She thought she seemed pensive.

“Princess.” Lady Asha was staring down on the bridge connecting to the Great Keep, just where Dāero had ripped away the roof.

Just where Viserys had fallen. “I am so sorry about your brother”, she said. “Had you not killed Victarion there and then, I would have given him to you now.”

Dany swallowed down the knot in her throat. “You have lost all your brothers.”

“I have. Rodrik and Marlon during the first stupid war”, she spat out the word, “and Theon to the Crow's Eye. Rodrik would now reign had it not been for our father's foolishness, or perhaps the old man would have still been alive himself.” She shook her head, taking a step back. “There is nothing to be said that could bring them back. And now here I am, ready to sit the Seastone Chair because your brother the king won it for me – I know this was not done for _me_ , but still. He could have had my head and instead gave me a lordship, and your House paid the price for it in blood. I will not forget that.”

Dany was quite sure that Lady Asha was sincere, judging by the intensity with which she looked at her. “You will do well to remember”, she said. “We cannot have another rebellion.”

Asha snorted. “The Iron Islands cannot have it. I must confess I understand it, Your Grace – these isles are different from the green lands. But Dorne is different from the northern kingdoms, and I have seen what it receives for its obedience to the Crown: peace, trade, shipments of food when a drought destroys its crops. This is what the Iron Islands need; not more war and bloodshed so one more man may call himself king.”

“Then you will have all that”, Dany promised. “You will need coin, too.”

Lady Asha glanced at the castle below with a raised eyebrow. “You think?” Then she added: “Your Grace.”

Dany tried to smile, but her face wouldn't cooperate. Below, corpses were still being moved away while she could see the men building Viserys' pyre.

Lady Asha cleared her throat. “I couldn't believe my eyes when they first took me to Sunspear. I, daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke and the most highborn woman on these isles, could have never imagined such splendour. Coming back now, I remember why – this castle would be an embarrassment to any minor lord on the green lands, not to speak of the fact that it seems ready to fall into the sea at any time. I don't want to think of the state Euron left our coffers in.”

“The Crown will supply anything you need.” They didn't lack for coin, and to give some to the Iron Islands appeared like a worthwhile investment, as long as Lady Asha was wise enough to not spend it on turning Pyke into a place of ostentatious luxury. “Your rule must be secured. We can help you with any supplies you may lack, and when you kneel before the king today, it will be clear to all that a threat to you is a threat to us and our dragons. However – the rest is for you to do. You are young and must listen to the few wise lords these islands have to offer, your uncle Lord Harlaw chief amongst them. And you must wed.”

Lady Asha looked as if she'd bitten into a lemon. “I have always promised myself that I would never be ruled by a man.”

“I understand that.” Dany could say this with all her heart, and knew that Asha would believe her. This was why she was having this conversation, and not a man. “You were raised in Dorne. You were raised with the _Sand Snakes._ But a ruler must wed.”

“I think we can agree that this would not be the same as a man taking a wife.”

She wasn't wrong, but this didn't change things. “It needs to be done so you may keep control of these islands, my lady. And we need you to have it, because once the war for the dawn is upon us, we will need every fighter we can have.”

The thought truly scared her now, even though it never had before. But how could they stand more fighting? Dany already felt like too much had been lost.

_Rhaenys_

She was in a daze all throughout.

Her father accepted Lady Asha's vow, and she those of her lords in turn. Some were clearly willing to consent to these developments, others motivated only by the dragons perched on the walls of Pyke. Hostages were taken and knighthoods bestowed.

“Prince Viserys of House Targaryen”, the king said with the torch held high, “the blood of the dragon, will return to the flames from whence he came.” Later on, she'd only distantly remember how the fire engulfed Viserys' body, just like she'd have trouble recalling the details of their journey back to the Red Keep. Being on Vēzos' back only brought her memories of when she'd left Aegon to their enemy.

She only came back in full when she fell into her mother's arms and wept. Rhaenys wasn't sure how long it took for her to speak again, and then it was difficult to get the words out between sobs. “I -”, she eventually managed, “I _left_ him, Mother. He was on his knees and they were beating him and I just – flew off.”

There was obvious pain on the queen's face, but she disentangled herself and held Rhaenys at arm's length to look her in the eyes. “You had no control of Vēzos. To stay would have only made it worse.”

She knew this, of course; that was why she'd left. And yet: “Euron will hurt him.”

“So he will.” Her mother pulled out a sun-and-spear handkerchief to dab the tears off her face. “And your brother will withstand him.” Rhaenys didn't know if she believed that, or merely wanted to.

She heard a concerned meow and felt movement around her ankles. There was Balerion, come to comfort her.

Rhaenys sniffed, trying to calm the last aftershocks of her sobs as she picked him up and pressed her face into his fur. “But what will we do?”

“That is to be determined.” The queen looked at her and kissed the cheek not occupied by the cat. “We need to be strong now, sweetling. Especially as the part of the small council not at Pyke will soon meet – you do not need to come, but...”

“Oh, gods.” Rhaenys shook herself free, looking around her rooms. “Where are my maids, then? I must freshen up.”

Never in a thousand years would she let them discuss Aegon's rescue without being present.

Many members of the small council were still at Pyke. In the Red Keep, there were Lord Arryn, Lord Tyrell, Grand Maester Agrivane, and Archmaester Marwyn (who wasn't attending), as well as the Kingsguard they'd brought back to the capital. Lyanna had already departed for Winterfell.

All the condolences were got out of the way quickly. “We are once again in need of a master of ships”, her father said then, not showing any trace of feeling. “Lord Connington will take up the task in the interim. He remains at Pyke to lead the efforts to locate Euron Greyjoy.”

“Surely, the ironborn can help with that”, Jae said.

Lord Arryn folded his hands. “The ironborn are hardly trustworthy.”

“Some are”, Dany replied. “Lady Asha is duly grateful, and she is not without support. The Houses Goodbrother and Harlaw still have most of their strength, and even if we cannot trust them to be loyal to us, I believe it is sensible to assume that they hate Euron more.”

“Lord Connington”, the king cut in before the Hand could reply, “is under orders to consult with and involve the ironborn.”

Mace Tyrell, too, wasn't convinced. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but their rebellion has only just ended.”

The Grand Maester nodded to that. “Treachery is innate to them. Any efforts to recover the prince can only be hampered -”

After a glance from the king, her mother spoke: “The Iron Islands are part of the realm, my lords. Their lord was a faithful subject to the Crown. He was murdered and his seat was usurped by his renegade uncle. Now we have returned his rightful heir to the Seastone Chair. This war was no rebellion by the Iron Islands as a whole, and we must affirm that they are ours by involving them in our plans. This is also the reason I believe that the next master of ships must be ironborn.”

Arryn, Tyrell, and Agrivane did not like that in the least. “Please, my queen”, Lord Tyrell said, “the Reach would be the next to rebel -”

“My lord”, her mother interrupted him, smiling sweetly. “I believe you may be exaggerating. It is no secret that the rest of the realm has little love for the ironborn; there has been too much bad blood throughout our history. But have Dorne and the Reach not succeeded in laying aside our differences? All the kingdoms were once at war, and now we are under one king so we may face our true foe.”

Some Marcher lords would likely disagree that all enmity was gone, Rhaenys thought, but Tyrell wasn't going to point this out. Instead, he looked at his hands and mumbled in vague agreement.

“The choice of the new master of ships”, her father said in that calm voice he used to show there would be no objections, “is the king's alone. I will make it once my son is returned to our shores; in the meantime, I leave the search for him in the hands of one of the men I trust most.” No one would dispute Jon Connington's loyalty. “I should add that I have selected Ser Kiran Mooton to join the Kingsguard – but another place is open yet, as the maesters doubt that Ser Adrian will be able to fight after the injuries he suffered. At the very least, however, we know he will live.”

Lord Arryn cleared his throat, and Rhaenys saw Jae roll his eyes. “Your Grace intends to release Ser Adrian from his vows?”

“Why, yes, my lord.” There was a clear irritated edge to his voice. “I am aware it is unprecedented, but another war is coming, and we cannot afford to have one knight on the Kingsguard whose purpose is solely decorative.”

Displeased, Arryn leaned back. Grand Maester Agrivane opened his mouth and was shot down with a look.

“Now”, Rhaenys said into the silence, “Aegon. I wish to help the master of whisperers in finding him.”

Agrivane looked as sour as he always did when Marwyn was mentioned. “Princess”, he said with a feigned gentle tone, “spies will not help you find your brother on the open seas.”

No, but sorcery might. “Marwyn has other ways”, her father said. “And my daughter will be able to aid him – so yes, go to him. The sooner we hear what Euron wants, the sooner we will be able to pretend to give it to him.”

“That may not truly end in him returning the prince to you, Your Grace”, Lord Arryn pointed out.

For once, Rhaenys didn't disagree. “Naturally”, the king said. “If any sort of trade is decided upon, it is clear both sides will attempt treachery. I intend for us to be the more successful one.”

Arryn nodded, and then his gaze flicked to her. “It pains me to say this, but there is also the possibility that Prince Aegon may not come back to us.”

She knew that. The thought made her feel dizzy and nauseous and made her hands shake so much she had to grip onto the table, but she understood it. “This would then pose the question of succession”, the Hand continued.

“Rhaenys is the next in line”, Jae said immediately. “She is the Princess of Summerhall.”

Her mother nodded to that. “This was agreed upon years ago. If Lyanna were here, she would tell you the same.”

Agrivane was about to speak, but Arryn was faster. “The lords will not see it that way. A brother comes before a sister, and the Great Council of 101 -”

“May or may not have set a precedent against women on the Iron Throne, yes”, her mother interrupted. “This was never explicitly stated.”

It was Dany who said out loud what they all knew: “My betrothed does not want the throne, though we are all aware that his wishes play no part in this. The obvious solution is for Rhaenys and Jaehaerys to wed.” She pointed around the room. “We all know this and always have. There is no conflict here.”

“But would you be willing to do this?” Lord Arryn's eyes were on Rhaenys. “Your Grace?”

She stared at him. Marrying Jae wasn't the issue. “Do you believe I would have trouble being wed to my brother, my lord?”

There was just the faintest hint of distaste in his expression. “I mean no offence, princess, but it is clear that you are very enamoured of Prince Aegon. A shock such as his passing might change you in ways you cannot now predict. I am...” The first sentence he'd spoken had already enraged her, and he seemed to finally become aware of the fact that he would need to tread carefully. “I am merely asking whether it would be wise”, he continued, now addressing her father and not herself, “to entrust the responsibility of ruling, either as the one on the throne or at her husband's side, to a young woman who has lost so much. In the unfortunate event of my king's premature passing, that is.”

It took Rhaenys a fair bit of self-control to not slap him across the face. “You can't be _serious_ ”, Jae said, leaning forward on the table. Dany had immediately grabbed both their arms, and the king and queen wore expressions so still that any man should be terrified.

“My daughter”, the king said in a tone that made the room feel colder, “is the Princess of Summerhall. Until any further children a born, the line of succession goes from Aegon to Rhaenys to Jaehaerys to Daenerys. Should Aegon die before he has a child, Rhaenys and Jaehaerys will be wed in order to consolidate their claims.” The way he looked at him, she almost felt sorry for Lord Arryn, even though the Hand seemed unbothered by a gaze that would have made most men wet themselves. “That is all there is to say on the matter of succession, my lord. Should I drop dead this instant, you will bow to my daughter and call her your queen.”

Lord Arryn wasn't foolish enough to add anything else. Rhaenys, however, found her mother's eyes and saw that they were thinking the same: Her being queen was precisely what he didn't want.

There was no use in a Hand such as that.

Rhaenys took Dany and Jae on a walk through her gardens after that, not least because she needed the fresh air to clear her head. She asked them if they'd heard the same implications that she had, and both answered yes. She asked them _why_ , and they weren't sure.

Perhaps she was too Dornish in Lord Arryn's eyes. Perhaps it was her half-open interest in the higher mysteries. Perhaps she was too much like her mother or her father or too _un_ like them, who knew.

He was old, Jae had said. It didn't matter as he'd die soon enough anyway.

Dany hadn't quite seen it like that, but had pointed out that she'd always have her mother and Lyanna to protect her birthright.

Rhaenys wanted to speak to Marwyn. She knew what her father would say, and that to talk to her mother would accomplish the same as speaking to him directly: We cannot act against Lord Arryn; not now. Ser Gerold died relatively recently, the war just ended, and anyway he is hardly a real threat. Just let it play out and wait for him to die.

They'd say it in a way that would imply something else: _If you do anything, by the gods keep us out of it – and do not fail._ Satisfied that it wasn't necessary to speak with them if she could predict the entire conversation, Rhaenys returned to Maegor's, planning to seek out Marwyn.

Halfway up the stairs to his study, she realised that he would tell her father anything she'd say. It was then that she understood that the only one whose counsel she really wanted was Aegon's.

Thoughts racing, she went back down the stairs to her own rooms, finding that Loras Tyrell stood in front of the door.

“Who is inside?”, she asked, half hoping and half dreading that one of her parents may be waiting for her.

Loras shook his head. “No one. I need to speak to you.”

Eyebrows raised, she let him follow her into her sitting room. Whatever he wanted, she had no patience for it.

“Rhaenys”, he said while she poured herself a cup of water, and she heard the sound of someone in armour falling to their knees. “Please.”

She turned around slowly. There he knelt, right in the middle of the room. “What is this about?”

“Forgive me”, he said, looking close to tears. “I beg you – someone has to.”

She took a few steps towards him, intrigued. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. They took him and I did nothing; I wasn't even there.” She almost groaned as she understood. “What a pathetic excuse for a Kingsguard I am – and it was so clear that I was meant to be _his_ Kingsguard. I thought I would be Aegon's Arthur Dayne, but Ser Arthur would have never let this happen to your father.”

Rhaenys hummed, setting down her cup and closing the distance. Then she slapped him across the face with the back of her hand, so hard it made him yelp in surprise and sprawl out on the floor. “Do _not_ ”, she hissed as she grabbed his arm and dragged him back to his feet, “make this about yourself.” Standing now, he blinked at her. “I was there on a _dragon_ , Loras. Even if you had been there, there was nothing that you could have done except for dying or being captured as well.”

He stared at her for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. “Forgive me”, was what he settled on, again. “I did not mean to -” Loras turned away, taking a few steps. “I know he is not my brother, but he _is_ like a brother to me. My brother and my prince. I cannot _stand_ this, Rhae.”

He hadn't called her that in years. “I know”, she said, thinking: _good._ “Neither can I. And we will find him and have him back, and until then...” She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around so he had to look at her, white cloak swirling, “You will be _my_ Arthur Dayne.”

Rhaenys was sure that Ser Arthur was privy to her father's deepest, darkest secrets – and she was confident that she could trust Loras to keep hers, if only for Aegon's sake.


	21. Stranger

**Part III: The Gods**

_Somewhere out on the Sunset Sea_

_Aegon_

It was quiet.

This was, perhaps, the most striking (if obvious) thing about the _Silence_. Aegon was far from an experienced sailor, but he'd always thought he knew how ships worked. A big part of it, as the late Lord Velaryon had told him, was that the entire crew had to work in unison – and for that, they needed to talk to each other; often shout.

Not here, however. He didn't know how long he'd been there, though he didn't think it had been long, but Aegon felt as if he hadn't heard a voice for an eternity.

At the very least, trying to decipher how this ship was run with none of its crew speaking gave him some way to occupy himself. Many of the men didn't seem to have tongues, which confirmed what Ser Jaime had told him all those weeks ago. There had to be some sort of sorcery involved.

He wished he could ask Rhae.

He was in a storage compartment in the bow of the ship. It didn't seem to be a cell as it lacked any chains, though there was a grate, which he thought had been originally designed to keep cargo from moving. There was a bucket serving as a chamber pot that he'd wedged between a few crates to keep it from spilling. The crates themselves, he'd quickly discovered, only contained sand. Ballast. At least he could sit on them.

Beyond the bars, he couldn't see much more than stairs leading to an upper deck as well as Blackfyre hanging on the wall. He was sure Euron had mounted it right there purely to mock him.

The fact that he wasn't the first Targaryen to ever fall into captivity wasn't lost on Aegon. Most recently, of course, his grandfather came to mind. That was a disconcerting thought, but then again, Duskendale had merely accelerated Aerys' decline, not created problems that hadn't been there before.

So he sat on his crate and tried to occupy his mind. He listed all Targaryens since the Conqueror by order of birth. Every landed House in every part of the realm, including cadet branches, along with their sigils, words, and current lord. The same passage from _The Conqueror's Two Wives_ in all nine dialects of the Free Cities. The entire text of that same play in the original Braavosi speech. The commanders of all nineteen castles of the Night's Watch. Could he think of the nicknames for every High Septon since the reign of Baelor the Blessed? Yes. Since Maegor? No, or at least he wasn't sure.

He wrote an account of his captivity in his mind. _For what had to have been several days at least, nothing happened. It was, to be frank, a disappointment: Who would have thought that being in one's enemy's clutches could be so profoundly boring? I soon began to suspect that this was entirely Euron Greyjoy's intent; a strategy to make me loose my wits. As much as it pains me to admit, it worked to a certain extent, as I once found myself acting out parts of a play I had merely intended to recount in my mind._

The best part of the day – or perhaps it happened more than once a day; he couldn't be sure – was when the boy brought him food. He had to be around Aegon's age, with a flat face and almond-shaped eyes, though there was something in his features that made him look a Greyjoy nonetheless.

“Thank you”, he said as he was handed stale water, maggot-ridden bread, and salt beef he'd be chewing on for hours.

The boy stared at him, mute, then turned away. Aegon smiled to himself – he hesitated a bit longer every time.

The next time he came, he slightly opened his mouth as if he was about to speak before hastily turning away. Once, Aegon found him looking at him when he woke up from a restless bout of sleep on the floor.

He held the water, bread, and beef, as always. Aegon got off the floor slowly. “What is your name?”, he asked before coming to the bars to take the food.

The boy didn't reply, just blinked. Aegon repeated the question in Valyrian and thought he saw recognition in his eyes.

So that was the right language. He stepped up to the bars. “Are you able to speak?”

The boy thrust the cup and plate into his hands. _“Issa”_ , he whispered, _yes_ , and ran off.

Aegon found himself grinning. It was good to have accomplished _something_.

This was the last time he was brought food before Euron came. Aegon was still chewing on his salt beef when he heard the steps of several men approaching, and then the Crow's Eye was there, staring at him with his black eye.

“My lord”, Aegon said politely, standing up from the crate.

One of the men moved without a single word being uttered, unlocking the bars and coming straight at him. He was short though very broad-shouldered and hairy, most likely Ibbenese.

He was as strong as he looked. Aegon learned this when he punched him in the stomach, turning him into a ball on the ground, gasping for air.

“You are speaking to a king”, Euron announced. “Address me as such.”

 _King of what?_ , Aegon wanted to ask as he scrambled to his knees, where he thought he might as well stay. A king with no lands nor supporters, Euron was a captain at most; a former usurper lord and rebel who'd lost all but his ship and one valuable hostage. “Forgive me, Your Grace”, he said instead.

His quick acquiescence caught the Crow's Eye off guard. Without another word, another man came to him, holding an empty roughspun bag that he draped over Aegon's head. He offered no resistance as he was dragged back on his feet and his hands were bound behind his back – what for?

Still, fear began to build in him as he was led through the ship, roughly pushed forward, stumbling over ropes and steps, hitting his head more than once. The were clearly going up, and it wasn't long until the stink of his cell was replaced by a salty breeze and the sound of waves.

Aegon felt wind on him and the spray of water, could see it was now lighter all around. They were above deck.

Soon, he was on his knees again. “Your father”, Euron announced, “was given terms. He refused. As such, you will die.”

Panic gripped him when someone pushed his head onto a block and he heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed. _That makes no sense_ , Aegon thought. None of it.

He winced when he suddenly heard Euron next to his ear. “Any last words?”

Was he really going to die, here and now? Have his head chopped off and be thrown into the sea?

If so, there was no more harm in angering his captor, he thought while trying very hard not to piss himself. “Father, judge me kindly”, he prayed, thinking: If I really die now, then oh Father, do not be too harsh on Rhae for whatever it is she will do when she hears of it. “Mother, show your mercy.” What kind of fool was Euron for actually killing him before gaining anything? “Warrior -”

The blade slammed into the block an inch from the top of his head. Its impact made Aegon jump. _”Fuck!”_ , he heard himself shout.

His head was yanked up and the bag pulled off his head. He stared into Euron's black eye and then looked beyond it, noting that there were two longships travelling aside the _Silence_. “The Seven will not protect you”, his captor said. “I decide if you live or die, little prince. I am your god.”

Aegon was breathing heavily and thought he might get sick. _You are a pathetic little man who gambled and lost_. “Yes, Your Grace.”

_King's Landing_

_Jaehaerys_

“Do you have any idea as to what he might want?”, he asked Loras as they strode towards the Tower of the Hand.

“No.” Jaehaerys didn't think he'd ever spoken to Lord Arryn alone, and now he'd been asked to come talk to him at a time when most of the castle was already asleep. Dany wasn't pleased that he'd been called out of her chambers, and that was only next to being suspicious of Arryn's motives.

The Hand awaited him in his audience chamber, sitting behind a desk. “Good prince”, he said, rising slowly to bow. “There is no need for a knight of the Kingsguard by your side.”

Loras, however, helped adjust Arryn's chair when he sat back down. Jaehaerys noticed that his fingers briefly graced the man's shoulder, and pretended he hadn't seen.

Had he just picked up some _hair_?

“Please leave us, ser”, he said, though he was now more interested in talking to Loras than to Lord Arryn.

As the door closed behind him, the Hand poured them both wine. “I apologise for inconveniencing Your Grace at such a late hour. I merely want to ensure that our conversation goes unnoticed.”

Jaehaerys took the cup and hid his smirk behind it. There was nothing that happened in this castle that his father couldn't find out about. “And why is that, my lord Hand?”

Arryn folded his hands on the table. “It is about your sister, Your Grace. Princess Rhaenys is a formidable woman – quick-witted, strong-willed, learned. Every day, she reminds me more of your royal father. I am afraid that my comments during the small council meeting may have been misunderstood.”

 _Right_ , he thought. _You realised you'd been too open and now you're scared._ “So my lord did not intend to imply that Rhaenys would not be fit to rule?”

Arryn pretended to be scandalised. “On the contrary, good prince. To be queen is her birthright, either at Prince Aegon's side or, should the worst come to pass, at yours.”

Jaehaerys stared at him over his wine, trying to work out why he was here. It wasn't lost on him that even with this (supposed?) caving in, Arryn still failed to entirely toe the royal line. “I am very glad to hear that, yet I must ask why my lord is saying this to me and not to her, which would surely be the obvious way of resolving this misunderstanding.”

“Well.” The Hand sighed in feigned regret. “I fear that Her Grace would not lend me her ear at this time. She appeared rather upset.” She'd sat there stone-faced and said nothing while their father talked. Jaehaerys wasn't sure what else Arryn would've wanted. “And I wanted to speak to you, good prince, because I would like to ensure that all is well within your family, considering that your House's wellbeing is of outmost importance to the realm. After all, if you did need to wed the Princess of Summerhall, this would presumably be quite strange for you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why, yes. The only woman I wish to wed is Daenerys. But if it must be Rhaenys so we can avoid lords endlessly attempting to play us against each other, then it will be so.” He shrugged. “I love my sister, my lord. Not quite in the way a husband loves a wife, but that could change.” He could still be with Dany anyway, as he doubted Rhae would have much interest in any man who wasn't Aegon if he died. Perhaps he'd even marry both.

“She would, naturally, be terribly distraught if we did not succeed in recovering Prince Aegon”, Arryn remarked.

“As would we all. A union between Rhaenys and myself is not the problem in this scenario, Lord Arryn. Aegon's death is.”

The Hand nodded slowly. “It would be difficult, of course. To need to calm her grief and prevent it from taking a rather destructive shape while preparing for the war you have been anticipating since the moment of your birth...”

 _A rather destructive shape_. Jaehaerys wanted to punch him. If he wanted to know how destructively expressed grief looked, he should have seen what Dany and the king had done to Victarion Greyjoy.

Or what Jaehaerys wanted to do whenever he thought of Euron. “My lord, the best way to avoid misunderstandings is to speak clearly.”

Arryn only opened his hands. “I am merely attempting to understand if you are ready to wed the princess, Your Grace. The gods know it would not lighten the load you already bear.”

He decided he'd heard enough. “I thank you for your concern, Lord Hand. Rest assured that I am ready and willing to wed and bed my sister should the situation arise, though I dearly hope it does not. Further”, he rose and leaned slightly towards him, “I should be clear that I meant what I said in the small council chamber. Rhaenys comes before me, as my royal father declared, and I will not dispute this. If Aegon dies, Rhaenys becomes the Princess of Dragonstone, and I will merely be her consort once she rules.”

He needed to speak to Rhae and tell her that Arryn was trying to plant doubts about her in people's minds. But first: “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Loras was walking beside him as they crossed the moat into Maegor's, nodding to Ser Jaime, who stood on the bridge.

“Why did you take a hair from Lord Arryn?”

He didn't miss a beat. “Forgive me, but: what?”

Jaehaerys nodded. Instead of making for the staircase, he turned and pushed Loras into a wall; straight against the mural depicting how Daeron II had brought Dorne into the realm.

Loras glared at him, clearly annoyed because he would most likely be able to beat Jaehaerys in a fight – but wasn't allowed to. “Swear”, the prince said, “by the old gods and the new and on your honour as a knight of the Kingsguard. I will ask you a question that you will answer with a yes or a no. Swear the answer will be true.”

Whatever he was doing, Loras was most likely sworn to secrecy anyway, so Jaehaerys didn't expect him to give much detail. “I swear it”, the knight said.

He didn't let go. “When you took that hair, did you do it at the command of a member of my family? My mother, my father, Elia, or Rhae. One of them?” It wouldn't be Dany, both because it wasn't her way and because she would've told him.

“Yes”, Loras said. “One of them.”

Jaehaerys let him go. “Then carry on.”

_Summerhall_

_Rhaenys_

It was the night after Jae had come to her and recounted his conversation with Lord Arryn. This along with everything else had told her she had to act quickly, and so here they were: Rhaenys, Loras, the priestess Melisandre, and a man Loras had plucked from the black cells. They'd given him milk of the poppy to ease his transport upon Vēzos – securing all four of them had been difficult enough.

“Welcome to my seat”, she said as they went through the garden they'd landed in. Rhaenys waved towards the guards' barracks, where a few sleepy and confused faces were visible through the windows.

Every member of Summerhall's household had sworn a holy vow to keep her secrets. She didn't worry about any of them tattling.

“This is a place of strong magic”, Melisandre said as they went through the gates. “I can feel it all around.”

“It is”, Rhaenys agreed. She led them to the former ballroom.

She disregarded the large seven-pointed star on the floor of one side. “Put him on the altar”, she told Loras, looking up. There was still a hole in the ceiling that they had never had repaired, and the moonlight shone through it.

“Should the candles be black or red?”, she asked Melisandre. One side of the ballroom was dedicated to supplies – candles, gems, metals, dyes and paints, all sorts of animal parts, dried plants, incense, distillates, and much more.

The priestess was walking around the altar while looking down at the unconscious man. “It makes no matter; the Lord's flame is the same every time.” Well, perhaps it didn't matter in her view, but Rhaenys still chose black for the Stranger. “Who is this man?”, the priestess asked.

Loras looked uncomfortable as Rhaenys neared the table with nine candles, placing them around the captive. “The gaoler said he killed a few whores. The City Watch caught him after he almost killed the owner of a brothel when she didn't let him in.”

The Red Keep's gaolers were, by now, relatively accustomed to the royal family staging executions at strange times and in unknown places, and did not ask any questions when a Kingsguard came down to ask for someone from the black cells. “An evil man, then”, Melisandre decided. “It would be better to burn him so the fire can cleanse him of his sin.”

“You can go, Ser Loras”, Rhaenys said to the knight, who walked off with obvious relief. “And we do not burn people alive, my lady. Not outside of battle.”

“It is the noblest death”, the priestess insisted as Rhaenys tore open the man's rag of a shirt.

The princess took a pouch out of her gown and emptied it into a cup made of lead. Loras had got her a few of Jon Arryn's short white hairs.

“If my royal father learns that I burned someone on a pyre, I will spend the rest of my life in a set of very comfortable cells.” It was the one line she didn't dare cross; not after all her grandfather had done.

She mixed the hair with black pigment, a few bits cut from the feather of a vulture, and several drops of her own blood. Melisandre held open the shirt while Rhaenys painted on the sigil: a falcon wearing a chain of office.

Then the priestess stepped back and raised her arms while Rhaenys sat next to the man on the altar. Melisandre chanted in the tongue of Asshai as the princess let one drop of her blood fall onto every candle.

Soon, the flames flared up; reaching much higher than they should be able to. Melisandre's voice seemed to stir the very air around them and Rhaenys thought she could see sparks flying where she sat.

She stared at the fire until she could see nothing but Jon Arryn's death. Then she stabbed the dagger through the sigil and into the man's heart.


	22. Father

_King's Landing_

_Daenerys_

Everyone saw it happen.

Full court had been convened so the king could inform all about the state of the won war and his missing heir. The throne room was filled to the brim, though it wasn't the usual spectacle of colours – instead, the entire Red Keep wore black.

Dany didn't think this was strictly necessary. How many of those before them had actually lost someone at Lannisport or Pyke? A few, to be sure, but not most. To pretend they mourned Viserys was just an ugly display of sycophancy.

His widow had come, however, if only because she'd had to. Lysa stood with them on the platform by the Iron Throne, heavy with Viserys' child – the family on one side of the king, the small council on the other.

“As such”, Rhaegar finished his explanations, “the Iron Islands have been returned to the realm and to their rightful ruler. Yet justice has not been served in full; not until the Prince of Dragonstone is safe and Euron Greyjoy is dead. Lord Connington is...” He hesitated for just a heartbeat while glancing at his Hand, who stood next to the Iron Throne. Lord Arryn appeared to be short of breath. “... organising the search for Prince Aegon.” Dany did her best not to look at Rhae. “The Redwyne and Hightower fleets are combing the Sunset Sea while we await Lord Euron's terms.”

The king looked at Arryn again, who had grown noticeably pale. After hearing of Loras' actions from Jae, Dany was absolutely convinced that only Rhaenys could be behind this. She steeled herself for watching Lord Arryn die while trying to put on a look of mild concern.

“My lord Hand?”, the king asked as Arryn seemed to be blinking rapidly. A murmur went through the crowd. “Are you unwell? You may require a maester.”

Arryn cleared his throat. “Not to worry, Your Grace; please carry on.” Then he stumbled forward, grabbing onto a sword on the Iron Throne and cursing when it cut him.

Rhaegar was out of the throne quickly enough to catch him before he hit the floor. “Grand Maester”, he said while he carefully lowered Arryn to the ground and the entire court watched on, helpless.

“Is he gone?”, the lords and ladies whispered. “Is he dead? Does he still breathe?”

Craning her neck, Dany couldn't tell. Beside her, she heard Elia groan quietly.

Agrivane had made it to Lord Arryn, taking some time to adjust his robes as he knelt down by his side. She felt Jae take her hand; both aware of what would come. Lysa held her hands before her face in shock and Rhae emulated her, hiding what Dany could only assume was a much less concerned expression.

They saw Agrivane say something to Rhaegar, both leaning over Arryn. Rhaegar's eyes quickly flicked to them, then he nodded and stood to face the crowd. “My lords and ladies”, he announced, “the Hand of the King is very unwell. The Grand Maester will see to him and court will continue in the afternoon.” He waved to the Kingsguard, who began to pick up Arryn's limp body as the first courtiers filed out of the throne room, their voices now echoing all around.

There was a flicker of anger on her brother's face as he walked towards them. “Good-sister”, Elia said to Lysa in the meantime, “why do you not go with the ladies? You have had enough grief already.”

Lysa gave a tortured little smile. She didn't like any of them, and had long given up on putting any effort into the pretence. “Of course, my queen”, she said stiffly and walked off, a protective hand on her belly.

She was quite far along now, Dany thought. What a terrible irony it would be if she bore a living child.

Rhaegar reached them the second she was out of earshot. “He is already dead”, he whispered. “I did not want to announce it in the moment; the commotion would have been too great.” His gaze hit each of their faces in turn. “Rhaenys”, he decided. “With me, now.”

Elia had commanded them to her rooms. “Was it her?”, she asked as soon as the door had closed. “I will know if you lie.”

She would. Dany exchanged a look with Jae before confessing: “We believe so.”

“You _believe_.” The queen turned away from them to stare out of a window, so much visible tension in her body that Dany thought she might snap in two. “This means you knew something before and made no attempt to stop her, nor to inform us of her plans.”

Neither of them knew what to say. There were no right words, that much was clear. “We all”, Elia continued after an excruciating silence, “are in a great amount of pain. Viserys is dead and my son is in the hands of a monster. But let me be clear.” She turned back, redness in her eyes, and Dany found it hard to look at her. “If we wish to bring Aegon back to us alive, prepare the realm for the war for the dawn, and survive until then – the we have to work as one. We are _not_ ”, the word cracked like a whip, “served by indiscriminately murdering those who slighted us, especially not without permission.”

She was standing close to them now. Jae opened his mouth and then reconsidered, but it was too late. Elia inclined her head as she stared at him. _“Yes?”_

“Arryn tried to turn me against her. He called me to the Tower of the Hand late at night and was much less subtle than he thought he was being.”

The queen's expression didn't change. “And what did you do?”

“I told Rhae.” He held her gaze.

“Clearly.” Dany wasn't sure when Elia had last blinked. “What should you have done?”

“Tell Rhae. As well as you and Father.”

Elia hummed and turned to Dany. “You knew?” Then she looked back to Jae and waved her hand. “What a question. What is it that you should have done?”

She swallowed. “Speak to you and Rhaegar.”

“And did you not”, the queen came even closer, “know this before now?”

“I did.” And why hadn't she? “It was Rhae's secret. She did not even tell us.”

There was another pause. “She will be your queen, and you must guard her secrets. But it pains me that you believe you must also guard them from _us_.” Elia stepped back. “Go to your rooms, both of you – separately. You may not leave until Rhaegar decides what to do with you.”

_Rhaenys_

He took her back to her gardens.

“What did you use?”, the king asked. “Sorcery or poison?”

There was no denying it. “Sorcery.” Rhaenys sat on a bench of delicately wrought iron and smoothed her skirts.

“At least.” He stood over her. “Then Agrivane will find no trace.”

She didn't know where to look. “Are you wroth?”

“You murdered my Hand.”

He'd said it with perfect neutrality. “I did.” She forced herself to look up, into her father's eyes. “You have wanted him dead for years.”

“I did not want him dead _now_.” There was no sign of his anger relenting. Somehow, she'd hoped that there'd only be a quick show of disapproval, but it increasingly appeared as if it would be worse than that. “If I had thought that it was the right time for Lord Arryn to die, then I would have seen to it that he did. Instead, you took it upon yourself without my permission. That is murder at best and treason at worst.”

His words felt like a punch to the stomach, but Rhaenys wouldn't give in so easily. “He was trying to turn Jae against me. And the small council!”

“And that was a problem, yes. One we could have discussed.”

 _Treason_ , he'd called it. “Father”, she plead, “I never meant to go against you.”

“Oh, I know. But you killed the Hand of the King.” He turned away abruptly and began to pace. “In view of the entire court, I should add. Of course they will not suspect you considering the manner in which he passed, but Lord Arryn, who has served me for eight-and-ten years, collapsed and died in front of the nobility of the realm. This in a moment when one rebellion has just been put down, a member of our House has died, the Prince of Dragonstone is a hostage, and the war for the dawn is approaching.” He stopped. “Has it not occurred to you that this may be a time when stability is called for?”

Rhaenys was at a loss for words. She hadn't thought that far.

When he understood there'd be no answer, her father turned away, looking out over the garden. “You are meant to be queen. You are meant to _think_ about the things you do because every word you say and every action you take reverberate across this realm.”

He sounded so _disappointed_. She opened her mouth but the only thing that came out was a pathetic little croak, and she had to try again. “Perhaps he was right. I should not be queen.”

Her father clicked his tongue and turned back around. “Seven hells, Rhaenys. Jon Arryn was a self-serving, conniving schemer who tried to weaken us so the lords could take more power once I was gone.” With an exhausted sigh, he fell onto the bench next to her, and she suddenly felt much better. “He was also a very good Hand of the King. Irritating, but I could easily entrust him with the daily affairs of the realm and know they would be handed competently. Occasionally, he would even bring up a good argument none of us had thought of.”

She stared at her skirts. Black velvet for mourning, and now there was one more dead because – he'd angered her? Gods. “Can you forgive me?”

There was something that almost sounded like a brief laugh. “I should not. You killed my _Hand_.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “You must be punished in some way, while also ensuring that none know you _are_ being punished, lest they suspect you. Who else was involved? Jaehaerys and Dany?”

“No.” Though Loras had told her that Jae might have worked it out. “Loras and Melisandre.”

“Well, that is something. Should there be any serious accusation that Lord Arryn did not die the natural death of a man his age, your red priestess will be our scapegoat. I would hate to have her killed considering that she may be useful, but the people do love to blame a foreign witch.”

There could be no objection to that. “I -” Rhaenys sighed. She longed for the days when she'd been able to cry on command, which had never failed to make him take her in his arms and say all would be alright.

Of course, she hadn't been killing people back then. “I should not have done this”, she said. “Obviously. I wish for you, Father, to know that I understand now. And it does not excuse anything, but: I cannot think straight without Aegon. He would have had no trouble dissuading me.”

“No.” The king sighed deeply and looked at her. “I should be furious at you.”

She almost smiled. “That means you are not.”

“I should have had Marwyn watch you, too, but I thought privacy would be appropriate considering your grief.”

Somehow, this made her feel more guilty than anything else. He'd _trusted_ her. “So do you forgive me?”

“No”, he replied, sounding very unconvincing. She turned her head away to hide her smile.

Rhaenys almost felt good, then, exempting her fear for Aegon. Then she remembered that her mother would have quite a lot to say about this, too. “So what now?” Perhaps he'd send her to Dragonstone or Summerhall and she could fly off before needing to face the queen?

“You will remain in the Red Keep.” So much for that. “You will mind the glass candle with Marwyn and study with him, too. You will attend court and show your deepest respects at Lord Arryn's funeral. You will entertain the ladies and children alongside your mother and spend time with Lysa – in other words, you will behave like a princess. You will not leave the castle; not even to go flying, nor will you speak to Melisandre.” Under any other circumstances, she would have objected to every part of this but for the study with Marwyn. “You will visit service in the sept, too. I would say you should do it daily, but that would surely rouse suspicion.” Rhaenys almost glared at her father. _He_ didn't attend service any more often than he needed to, considering his general disdain for the clergy. “Should there be the slightest suggestion of misbehaviour, then I will send you to Dorne. Doran would not soften by merely seeing you look contrite.”

_On the_ Silence

_Aegon_

He was braiding the frayed ends of his tunic. There wasn't anything else to do – he couldn't even braid his hair, considering that they'd shorn it all off. It took him all of his self-control to not pick on the scab created by some of the cuts on his skull.

Aegon hoped it would be time to eat soon, though he didn't truly have a way of telling and somewhat suspected that his meals weren't regular anyway. It wasn't only that he was so hungry that the sand in the crates began to look appealing; he also wanted to see the boy again. His attempts to slowly establish some sort of cordial relationship between them were the only thing he had.

He'd begun daydreaming a lot. Thoughts of Rhae were everywhere, of course, from happy memories of the way her eyes shone when she laughed to his favourite new fantasy (in which Vēzos was immune to the horn and she had him kill Euron as well as the rest of his men). He could only pray she was holding herself together.

Ideally, she'd be working with Jae to find some sort of sorcerous solution to his predicament. Aegon couldn't see any other way he might get off the _Silence_ alive: Every ship in the Seven Kingdoms could be methodically searching the Sunset Sea and never meet them, and the dragons didn't appear effective against Euron. He did assume that Viserys was putting every effort into his rescue, but there was only so much anyone could do.

Or perhaps there was someone on the Iron Islands who knew something useful – he could only hope that Dany and his mother were somewhere there, charming the lords and captains into collaboration while making friends of their wives and daughters.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone approach. Regretfully, he wasn't hearing the light, gentle steps of the boy, but much heavier ones with a determined stride.

Just one man, however. This was strange, as Euron usually came with a whole group; something Aegon knew would lead to beatings and some sort of humiliation.

He still had no idea as to what the Crow's Eye was trying to achieve by holding him. Now, as his captor came into view, he stood up from his crate (which hurt like all seven hells, considering his bruises, though he wasn't going to show that). “Your Grace.”

He looked at him through the bars. Aegon thought that Euron might be annoyed at his refusal to say anything that wasn't deferential and polite, but he steadfastly held his tongue, considering that he wanted to keep it.

“I have been a terrible host”, Euron said, unlocking the door. “This cell is not fit for a captive of your high birth. Drink with me as an apology.”

The prince watched him pour something out of a stained glass bottle into two small pewter cups, then took one. There would be no use in refusing to drink it. “Very kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

It was dark down here, but one glance at the liquid told him what it was: shade of the evening. He'd had it before, thanks to both his siblings getting the idea into their heads several years ago, but Aegon thought it best not to mention this.

As the Crow's Eye watched him, he had his first sip. Not unexpectedly, it tasted exactly like the maggoty bread they made him eat here, and it wasn't difficult to show disgust. Aegon caught his eye (only the black one, now; not the blue they'd seen during their first visit at Pyke) and assumed he looked just as miserable as he felt.

“Will you not finish it?”, Euron asked. “I would have expected better manners from a prince.” Then he downed his own cup in one.

So Aegon drank on. As with the first time he'd had it, the taste improved vastly with every sip. He held the empty cup towards his captor. “Excellent, though an acquired taste. Where did Your Grace procure a wine so unusual?”

If Euron thought he was laying it on too thick, he didn't show it. “Qarth. What did you taste?”

 _My sister's cunt._ “It was like if one dipped honeyfingers into the best Dornish Red.” _Also, snake-venom stew, fresh water, and the way the air will smell when you burn alive._ “And ate it on a terrace overlooking King's Landing, I suppose.”

“So you enjoy the capital?” Euron corked up the bottle. “It is nothing compared to what I have seen. The Black Walls of Volantis, the port of Yin, the temples of Asshai. Not to speak of the ruins of old Valyria.”

Aegon had heard that rumour before. “Your Grace has been?”, he asked, trying to sound surprised.

Self-satisfaction oozed off Euron almost visibly. “I have. The first and only man to walk among its smouldering towers and live to tell the tale.”

 _What of your crew?_ , Aegon thought. _Did they just wait for you, or did they follow and perish? And if it was the latter, how did you get back?_ The dragon horn, while undoubtedly Valyrian in origin, could've come from some other place. There were artefacts all over the known world.

“That is most impressive”, he said. When Euron only studied him instead of replying, he added: “May I ask Your Grace a question?”

His captor grinned, which made his otherwise handsome face surprisingly ugly. “I shall be merciful and allow it.”

He truly hated that he could see Blackfyre through the bars. “What will you demand for my release?”

Euron took the two cups. “Why, the one thing every man wants. A dragon.” With that, he made to leave. “Sweet dreams, little prince. All will be revealed to you tonight.”

Aegon could only stare after him. Had the Crow's Eye learned nothing? He couldn't _have_ a dragon. Even if his family were to agree to give one to him, he wouldn't obey. The dragons had minds of their own and had chosen their riders – irreversibly, if the day of his capture was anything to go by.

He sighed once Euron was out of earshot, sitting back down on a crate. The shade of the evening would take some time to work, and he could only guess that it had been given to him in order to play with his mind.

The best thing to do, he remembered, was to be in a comfortable and safe environment. Since this was entirely impossible as things stood, Aegon went back into his daydreams and fond memories. He thought of long summer feasts in the Red Keep, languid afternoons in the Water Gardens, and the cozy warmth of a hearth in Winterfell after a hunt in the wolfswood. He imagined that Rhae was taking about some ancient ritual she'd discovered while Jae sat there and used his runes to try to predict supper, which, as always, would lead to Aegon exchanging a look with Dany and the both of them turning to observations about the lords and ladies at court.

He was in the middle of a daydream of racing the dragons across a green landscape, sitting behind Rhae while they chased Dāero (he was always fastest) when the shade of the evening began to take effect. This became apparent as the green fields below them turned to rugged plains covered in snow and Aegon suddenly noticed he was wearing armour again.

They were flying to the Wall, now; looming large before them. Men dressed in black swarmed its top and the castles below, though they weren't alone, with a colourful array of armies camped all along the base.

Aegon saw a broken bridge above a huge chasm and a ship stuck in icy waters. Death was coming from the north, he knew; had always known, but the sight of the ship filled him with a strange mix of dread and pity. Next he saw a monstrous, slimy thing of a kraken writhing under the bridge, slow and bloated and clad in scales of Valyrian steel. It seemed to do more to hamper than to protect it when a voice rang out, furious, and made the water boil.

He saw his brother lead the fight against a sea of corpses, fierce as the Warrior Himself. There was his father the king, covered in the blood of the living. Aegon saw himself in more than one great hall, the eyes of hundreds on his lips. And then there was a rupture; something _broke_ and fell, shattering the fabric of the world. He saw a little boy in a tree commanding packs of wolves and swarms of ravens, and he saw Dany as if she was made of fire as she –

Her fire shone, yes, but there was another light that took his mind off the vision. Aegon saw the intense glimmer of a glass candle, then opened his eyes to find it illuminated his cell. The mould on the wood was forest green, he could see bright red bloodstains he'd never noticed before, his dirty clothes shone in an array of colour. His skin looked like gold and his bruises were the same tone as his eyes.

And yet, he didn't know where the light came from. There was no glass candle in here.

 _Aegon_ , he heard, then felt himself smile because this was his wife's voice. He'd later spend many days wondering if it had truly been her or merely an effect of the shade of the evening, but for now, he was certain. _Brother. Can you hear me?_

 _Rhae_ , he said back in his mind. _Rhae, do something to get me back. It is terrible here – my bed is hard and the food has no spice. I would love to tell you where we are, but I have no idea._

There was a pause, and the light flickered. _You look half dead. Is he mistreating you?_

It would be easier to lie if she couldn't see him. _What do you think? It is the Crow's Eye. He wants a dragon, that fool_.

 _Oh, he will see what dragons can do._ Somehow, the light emitted anger. _We will find a way. We have a better idea of where you are now. Hold onto yourself and do not let him break you._

Aegon grinned at his empty cell. _Do not worry, sweet sister. I have memories of you to sustain my spirit._

He just knew she was rolling her eyes now. _That is good to hear. I have to go, but remember: We will find you._

The light faded, returning Aegon to his solitude. He looked around, wondering: Has this been real or was he going mad?

Then, he decided that whichever of the two was the case, it would be best to just believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate it when you murder someone and your dad is mad for a full five minutes before giving you house arrest? Ugh, so annoying.


	23. Smith

_Pyke_

_Daenerys_

“Please forgive the unannounced visit, Lady Greyjoy”, she said as she stepped into the solar, Ser Jaime behind her. Dany would have been happy to never see the Iron Islands again, yet there was a need for her to come (and as much as he might have wanted to, the situation didn't allow for Rhaegar to discretely imprison all of them).

“You are always welcome, princess.” Lady Asha had moved her rooms from where her brother had had them in the Sea Tower to the Great Keep, which presumably made life much easier.

Also for the Lords Connington and Harlaw, who were both with her. “Does Your Grace bring news from the capital?”, the latter asked.

Dany sighed. A dragon flew faster than a raven, and she might as well tell all present to show some trust. “Ser Jaime? The chain.”

He reached into the bag they'd brought on Dāero. “I bring very sad news indeed”, Dany explained. “Lord Arryn collapsed and died three days hence. The maesters say it was his heart.”

Lord Harlaw hummed, Lady Asha raised her eyebrows. Connington understood her meaning as she passed him the chain. “My brother the king wishes for you to succeed him as Hand, my lord.”

He took the chain with slow movements, studying the links. It had been Arryn's; hand after hand made of white gold. Connington cleared his throat. “A great honour.”

Dany cocked her head. “Do you accept?”

He looked at her as if she'd asked him to tell her his name. “Of course.”

“Very good.” She glanced at Lady Asha for permission out of curtesy, and sank down in a chair made of chipped wood. Only then did she realise that they'd all forgotten to declare how devastated they were at Arryn's passing. “You may use something else if you do not like the chain.”

This, it was clear, wasn't currently a primary concern of Jon Connington's, who draped it around his neck with a strange look on his face. Even if he didn't want to change the design, he'd need to have it adapted, she thought; he was much broader of chest and shoulder than Arryn had been.

“How do the Iron Islands fare?”, Dany asked the other two. “As well as my lady's search for a husband?”

Just like when they'd talked atop the Guest Keep, Lady Asha didn't look pleased as the subject was raised. “I am considering a number of suitors”, she said. “Beyond that, things have been going as well as they could have in the last few days. Nobody is openly questioning my rule _quite_ yet.” She was wearing ironborn garb, all wool and sealskin leather. “At least not in the castle. The inns are another story altogether, from what I hear. We might need to drown all the lowborn prisoners to make a point.”

That sounded horrific. “Do what you need to do.” Dany still needed an answer to the question of a husband, so she turned to Lord Harlaw. “Who are the suitors?”

“Any of Lord Goodbrother's sons”, he said. “As well as Tristifer Botley, or one of the Drumms.”

“The Goodbrothers could be an issue”, Asha said. “I cannot tell them apart. Any of the three could come to my bed and I would not know if he is my husband.” Lord Harlaw opened his mouth, and she waved him off. “I know, I know. I am being facetious. The Drumms are too old. I could wed Tris Botley if I had to, I suppose.”

“A Drumm might somewhat appease the priests”, Harlaw pointed out. “If you were to wed Denys, your children would rule over Old Wyk and Pyke, and thus count the holiest island as part of their own lands.”

That sounded like they were having trouble with the faith. “What of the priests, in fact?”, Dany asked. “I was told your uncle Aeron holds much influence.” She had expected this to help smooth things over.

“Oh, he does.” Lady Asha wrinkled her nose. “And he preaches than no woman may sit the Seastone Chair. It does not help that I have spent much of my life away from these isles.”

Dany didn't envy Asha her relatives. “Is he a true believer?”, she asked. “Or is there something he wants? Perhaps he can be bought.”

“He can be killed”, Lord Connington pointed out. “Beyond that, he is a fanatic.”

She was beginning to suspect that murder may not always be the best solution, and yet, Dany supposed that another death would hardly make a difference at this rate – as long as it was done right. “There are poisons that will ensure he drowns the next time he goes into the sea”, she pointed out. “I understand this is something a priest of the Drowned God would do often?”

“Well, yes, but I would rather avoid this.” Yara had drawn and knife and was playing with it. The grip, Dany noted, was shaped like a viper. “Though I could consult Tyene if all else fails.”

Of course: She didn't need anyone to tell her of the Sand Snakes' capabilities. “A good match”, Lord Harlaw said, “could do much to appease the Damphair and his ilk. They are content as long as they have a strong ironborn man to rule.”

“My lord has not suggested any members of your own House”, Dany said.

He nodded. “House Harlaw follows me, and Asha is already of our blood. My heir, Ser Harras, will not change this.”

Dany glanced towards Lord Connington, who did not indicate any sort of disagreement. “ _Ser_ Harras”, she repeated, thinking back at what she knew of the man. One of very few ironborn knights (perhaps the only; she wasn't sure), the heir to one of the most powerful Houses of the isles, and the wielder of a storied sword of Valyrian steel. Perhaps not a husband to Lady Asha if Rodrik thought another House's loyalty to be of greater importance – but perhaps the best candidate for an ironbon master of ships. “I should like to speak with him, in fact, if my lordship could arrange for this. And with Aeron, too.”

Lady Asha raised an eyebrow. “Harras will be no problem, but the Damphair? You may as well talk to the sea itself; it will be just as likely to change its mind.”

She also had a word with Lord Jon alone to hear his assessment of the situation: Asha, while reluctant, understood that marriage was a necessity. They were searching for Aegon as well as they could, but chances of finding him at sea were slim, and Connington worried that Euron would kill him if he feared an attack. Rodrik Harlaw seemed to truly want the same as Asha – peace and a sliver of prosperity – and Ser Harras was likely the best choice for the small council if it had to be someone from the Iron Islands, considering his high birth and knighthood.

Satisfied that he shared her assessments, Dany took Ser Jaime back onto Dāero. It was a short flight to Saltcliffe, where Aeron Greyjoy had last been seen.

They spotted him on a pebbly beach, surrounded by a group of men. All were standing in the water, dousing themselves and, it seemed, drinking some of it. They did not react to the dragon landing nearby.

“Almost all the ironborn are mad”, Ser Jaime opined as they made their way over. “You should never drink seawater. Do you remember when you were a little girl and the queens took the four of you down to the bay?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a hint of recollection. “To an extent. What happened?”

Ser Jaime snorted. “Prince Jaehaerys drank some of it and then started to cry. That was the age at which normal men learn such a thing.”

Dany couldn't remember it, but it sounded plausible. “Naturally. Well, I suppose this is a sacred ritual for them.” They came to a halt atop a rock overlooking the beach, and she cleared her throat. “Aeron Greyjoy!”

Now, the men deigned to acknowledge their presence. The one she assumed to be the Damphair emerged from the group, slowly walking out of the water.

Like she'd heard, he had tangled long hair and an even longer beard, saltwater staining his woollen robes. He looked at her for a moment, an explanation of her identity unnecessary. “What is it you want?”

No pleasantries from his side, then. Ser Jaime helped her climb down from the rock. “I apologise if we have interrupted your rite”, Dany said. “I merely wish to have a word with you as an esteemed priest of the Drowned God.” Aeron didn't reply, so she came closer. “Who is it you believe should sit the Seastone Chair?”

The answer came promptly. “A godly man.”

She wondered who he would consider godly. “Euron?”

“No”, he said, packing much emotion into the word. “Euron is the least godly of them all.”

Dany had no trouble believing his sincerity. This, she thought, was good. “Then who? Yourself?”

“I am a priest.” Under all that hair, his face looked strikingly young.

“Then the Lady Asha is the only Greyjoy left.” At the very least, she didn't think there were any bastards or distant relations she wouldn't know about.

Aeron didn't disagree. “It was meant to be Theon, before Euron killed him.” Dany took care not to show her surprise: She knew that Asha was telling all that it had been Euron, but him being opposed to her rule, she hadn't expected Aeron to believe it or even admit it. Perhaps he'd known before. “Then it should have been Victarion – but you killed him.”

“Because he killed _my_ brother”, she pointed out, resisting the impulse to cross her arms. “If he had laid down his arms, he would have been spared.” At least, she thought Rhaegar would have considered that option. “Now, they are both gone. Who does this leave? Who do you want to see rule, Aeron Damphair?”

“A godly man”, he repeated. Looking into his eyes, Dany understood: He didn't want anyone in particular. “Chosen by kingsmoot.”

“Lordsmoot, if anything”, she corrected. “The Iron Islands are part of the Seven Kingdoms, as they have been for three centuries.” He obviously didn't like this, but he would have to live with it. “Lady Asha will wed.”

It was clear that Aeron Greyjoy was part of these islands, she thought, considering the way he stood unmoving on this beach, not bothered by the wind hitting his wet skin. The men he'd been with had remained in the water, watching from a distance. “She'll wed some green boy chosen by your king, no doubt.”

An idea came into her mind. “ _Our_ king, priest. And we shall see about that.” If he so wanted a man chosen by their custom, then why not? Something akin to a kingsmoot could be a good way to find out which husband had the most support among the ironborn. She would make the suggestion to Rhaegar as well as Lady Asha. “Where is your brother?”, she asked then.

The rapid change of topic surprised him. “Somewhere at sea”, he said, “though not for long”

“Why?” He sounded so certain.

“Euron is a blasphemer”, he said. “A kinslayer. The god will strike him down. ”

Dany would prefer not to wait until then. “Is this what you pray for?”

Perhaps there were grounds for some form of tenuous cooperation here. “Day and night”, Aeron said.

Later, she'd returned to Pyke, settled into the Guest Keep, and dined with Lady Asha and many lords and captains. Then she'd had Lord Connington provide her with a horse – the scraggly kind used on these islands, not one of his own.

Now, the poor beast was carrying both her and Ser Jaime as they made their way towards Lordsport, both dressed in shabby garb and with hoods drawn deep into their faces. “I must admit that this is a frustrating way to travel”, Dany said.

“Does Your Grace wish to reconsider? Your dragon would be much quicker, though he might hamper the clandestine nature of this journey.”

“Truly? Thank you for your counsel, ser.” The lights of Lordsport were still far away, and the horse couldn't be spurred to much more than a sullen trot. After a few heartbeats of silence, she asked: “What do you believe will happen?”

This close, she could feel the knight shrug. “Do not ask me, princess. The only thing I can tell you is that things usually end the way your brother the king wants them to. Based on this, I have hope for Prince Aegon.”

She looked out into the night. There wasn't anyone coming their way at this hour. “Are you certain about that?” Dany wasn't. “Rhaegar did not want Ser Oswell to die, nor Prince Lewyn. Not Lord Velaryon, not Alyn Connington, and not Viserys – not even Lord Arryn.” She was sure Ser Jaime had his suspicions about the Hand's death, but it would be best not to ask. “He did not want there to be a rebellion, nor all the deaths and injuries it caused.” She wondered how Tyrion's face was doing. “And he certainly did not want Aegon to be captured.”

“Well, he is only a man.” It was beginning to rain; fine drops wetting their cloaks. “None of us can control it all – not even lords and kings. Perhaps the gods can, if they exist. My own father was a man who I had always pictured as all-powerful, and you can trust me when I say that the series of failings in the last year of his life shattered that illusion very thoroughly. But do not despair.” He'd said the last part in a gentle tone she hadn't heard from him in years. “Euron cannot kill Aegon before he has gained anything, and he cannot gain anything without making demands.”

Dany hummed. Was this true? Was the Crow's Eye this rational? And: Hadn't Rhaenys and Jae often spoken of the power of blood; king's blood most of all? Aegon had plenty of that. Even to sacrifice him in some way had to present a benefit to Euron.

The finally reached Lordsport, which was little more than a collection of blacksmith's shops and inns. They met the spy in a shadowy corner behind the largest inn, drunk sailors' songs drowning out their voices.

He was a rather unremarkable looking man who at first sight could be from either Dorne or Myr, though his accent told anyone he spoke to that it was the latter. One of many merchants now flocking to the Iron Islands as the damage left by the fighting had to be repaired, and thus someone who'd likely spend some time at Lordsport.

“This is almost too easy”, Lysono Maar said. Somewhere under the clothes of a Myrish trader, he wore the ruby needed for Melisandre's glamour. “They are all drunk and happy to talk.”

“Sailor's tales, no doubt”, cautioned Ser Jaime. “Much will be exaggerated.”

“Naturally.” She had dropped Maar off at Banefort after a flight on Dāero two days hence, and they'd found a merchant who had been happy to give them his ship and swear his silence for a large bag of gold. “Still, it is easy to assess their mood and loyalties. I already saw a fight between a Goodbrother man and one who had supported Euron.”

They could hear the door to the inn open, the song briefly streaming out into the night. “Speak to Euron's supporters”, Dany said. “If anyone knows anything about where he might have gone; if mayhaps he had planned this all along, that might be of help.”

Maar bowed his head. “I will learn all I can. Who here knows of my presence?”

“Lord Connington, and none other.” She didn't distrust Lady Asha, but didn't think it would be wise to advertise that she'd installed a spy right under her nose. “Report all to Marwyn with the glass candle, too.”

“Of course.” Maar smiled thinly. “He sees all I see, through an enchantment I cannot even begin to understand.”

A precaution – after all, he still was the former spymaster of the Golden Company, and none wanted to blindly trust his loyalty.

_Somewhere in the Riverlands_

_Jaehaerys_

His mother's travelling party had stopped at an inn a day's ride south of the Twins. He had only needed to fly along the King's Road, come closer to the ground after Darry, and look out for the Stark and royal banners.

Naturally, she was happy to see him. This only changed when they took two horses to ride through the gentle green hills, the two newest knights of the Kingsguard behind them: Ser Andrew Estermont, who'd taken his vows not long after Lannisport and struck out with her, and Ser Kiran Mooton, who the queen had met on the road.

They were mostly out of earshot, though their presence was certainly the only thing keeping his mother from raising her voice. “I cannot _believe_ this”, she hissed instead, glaring at Jaehaerys from under the hood of her grey lambswool cloak. It was raining. “You should have said something!”

“I know.” What else was there to say? “Father and Elia have made this clear to all of us.”

She clicked her tongue, looking away. “I never liked Arryn, but you cannot simply _murder_ him – yes; I _know_ you did not do it, but you did nothing to prevent it. Did you at least ask the gods? Cast runes?”

Ah, well. This was the one point the other two hadn't addressed. “No”, he admitted.

“Incredible.” She looked out over the countryside. “They could have helped you, you know? They could help _Aegon_ , even.”

This was why the king had sent him to meet her. “I have had that thought, but surely, it would require an enormous sacrifice. We now vaguely know where he is; Rhae found him with the glass candle not too far from the Stoney Shore. Yet this was days ago, and even then – do the gods have power over the sea? And if they do, how could we accomplish anything without sacrificing a whole village's worth of people?”

“I do not know.” She frowned, and he was glad that these considerations had made her forget that she was angry at him. “Though someone might. It will still take me several days to reach the Neck, but of course that does not apply to you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you think Lord Reed would help?”

“Mayhaps. He will if he can, though whether or not the gods consider Aegon's rescue to be necessary for their purposes is another matter altogether.”

She was right about that, but something else occurred to Jaehaerys: A weirwood in the Neck would be a good opportunity to speak to Bloodraven, who seemed to have the necessary amount of familial loyalty. “Very well”, he said. “I will go to Greywater Watch – wherever it is right now.” Usually, it only took a bit of waiting until one of the crannogmen came out to show the way.


	24. Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains (not even slightly explicit) rape by proxy. That, of course, is terrible and absolutely is rape, even if the character might not think/feel about it this way – to some extent because he can't conceptualise it in these terms.

_On the_ Silence

_Aegon_

He caught the boy's hand when he passed him the water. “What is your name?”

It wasn't the first time he asked; it wasn't even the tenth (he thought – time had become a strange concept). Still, he kept trying.

The boy's eyes met his. They were of a warm, light brown, and it felt good to touch someone who wasn't hurting him for once. “Tōma.”

The prince blinked at him. _“Tōma?”_ That was just Valyrian for the number five.

He leaned closer, his voice the barest whisper and coloured with an unknown accent. “Father believes we do not need real names.” With what was almost a shrug, he freed his hands and hurried back up the stairs.

Aegon stared onto his bread. There were holes in it, but no maggots – had the boy picked them out?

Tōma, he reminded himself; not ‘the boy’. He wasn't even a boy, but most likely his own age. Aegon had previously pondered the possibility that he might be Euron's son, considering the slight resemblance in their features as well as the fact that he'd been permitted a tongue – but _Five_ , as a name? Not even _T_ _ōmelie_ ; ‘the fifth’?

Well, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The prince returned to his daydreams as he ate his meagre meal, imagining that he was leading a mutiny on this ship; all of them hanging Euron from the mast by his arms and slowly, torturously draining him of his blue kraken blood. It had to mostly consist of shade of the evening at this point.

Some time later – not what he'd now define as short, nor long – he heard steps approaching again. Euron, clearly; it was a gait Aegon would by now recognise from the other side of the Red Keep.

And... Tōma? He'd never actually seen them both together before.

But here they were. Side by side, the resemblance was more obvious. “Little prince”, Euron greeted him, as always, and leaned against the bars. “I have noticed you get along well with my son.”

He'd been right, then. Aegon stood from his crate. “If he is your son, Your Grace, then he is close to a prince himself.”

Euron sneered as he looked at Tōma. “This one?”, he asked before striking him hard across the face, sending him to the ground. He didn't cry out. “This is no prince. He is a mongrel bastard I got on a Lhazareen slave once, and I only kept him because his mother happened to survive until his birth.” The Crow's Eye kicked him for good measure.

Aegon watched and forced himself to feel nothing. Affection, he was sure, would only be used against him. “Does Your Grace have many sons?”

Euron looked pensive as Tōma shifted into a sitting position, knees drawn against his chin. “Eight I know of. There have been daughters, too, but I have sold them.” His black eye turned to Aegon's face, and as with every time they spoke, the prince knew that he was trying to look into him.

But there was something missing – this was far from the truly piercing gaze he knew from his parents. “What about you?”, his captor asked. “Is there a babe growing in your sister's belly?”

No – she'd been drinking moon tea, _obviously_ , because being pregnant while actively fighting in a war would be an awful idea. “I could not say”, he replied. “If she is with child, we did not know of it before the battle at Pyke.”

Aegon dimly wondered if Lysa was still pregnant or if she'd already lost the babe, as with the other times. Perhaps Viserys would finally get the son he'd wanted. “Well, when I make her mine, I will give her moon tea just in case”, Euron announced, and the prince had the mad impulse to burst out laughing. “The child I'll have of her will be strong, no doubt.”

He wasn't sure what to say to that, nor if he could reasonably be expected to produce a reply. Of course, the Crow's Eye wasn't reasonable. Aegon settled on: “I would advise caution. Rhaenys is rather wilful.”

Euron gave him another of his hideous grins. “Aye, I've seen. I will have her tongue and those eyes of hers too, and make her my salt wife after that.” He directed another kick at Tōma, who barely reacted.

While Aegon was aware that he should be either outraged or terrified, he couldn't quite muster any sort of reaction – the idea was too absurd. _She'll kill you_ , he thought. _Whether or not you'll come close to even trying_ that _, she'll be your death_. “May I ask who Your Grace is considering as a rock wife?”

“The other one, of course – your aunt.” Euron glanced down at his bastard. “My heir needs a mother of Valyrian blood.”

He wanted to point out that Dany's ancestry was only marginally less mixed than Rhae's or his own, but didn't. Before Aegon had to try to come up with another question, the Crow's Eye went on; clearly more in the mood for talk than torture (perhaps if was a nice, sunny day above deck?). “I would call you depraved for fucking your sister, little prince, but to be honest I would do the same if I had one. There must be a unique thrill to it – I _have_ thought before that I should have kept some of those daughters.”

Why was he telling him this? Was he trying to scandalise him into submission? The prince merely looked at Euron and let him go on: “Then again, I wonder. Just from seeing your sister I can tell that anyone would enjoy bedding her, but yourself? Merely a boy by comparison. I would assume you are overall useless between the sheets.”

Absurdly enough, Aegon found this far more offensive than anything else the Crow's Eye had said until now. _I'll have you know I have recreated more scenes from accounts of Lysene pillow houses than there_ are _Lysene pillow houses_ , was what he very nearly said. Judging by Euron's snort, his outrage very clearly showed on his face. “You are invited to prove me wrong.” While the prince still tried to decipher his meaning, his captor dragged Tōma up by the collar. “We have no women here, but since you are so fond of this one, you may as well use him instead.”

Oh. Oh, no. Tōma clearly hadn't understood a word of what had been said, looking at his father with the resigned concern of one who was used to this sort of treatment. “I am afraid I do not understand Your Grace's meaning”, Aegon replied, trying to delay.

“I think you do.” Euron grabbed the key to the cell from Tōma's belt and unlocked the gate, smirking in sadistic joy. “Of course, you do not have to. I would _never_ force a prince to do such a thing. So, if you prefer, I can call down the Ibbenese to take you instead.”

What even was the purpose of this? Somewhere deep down, Aegon had the terrible suspicion that Euron was merely bored, which managed to make the whole thing worse.

But – what choice did he have? While the boy walked into his cell, oblivious, Aegon considered the situation: He had no idea how Tōma would feel about this under different circumstances, but was quite sure that he wouldn't appreciate it in front of his father (unless this happened so often he no longer cared?). And still, the prince couldn't deny to himself that on some level, he didn't actually mind the situation at all, because this was something he'd done before and knew how to do and that would, perversely, feel like regaining some measure of control.

“Well”, he said. “It is lucky that my wife is not jealous.” Tōma was slightly shorter than him, with a lean body and, come to think of it, quite pretty lips.

Euron audibly tapped his foot. “What are you waiting for then? I thought you were half Dornish.”

Aegon resisted the impulse to click his tongue in irritation, stepping towards the boy. Trying to decipher Euron's motivations, he was sure that his usual sadism came into play alongside –

His mind games, Aegon reminded himself. _Feel nothing_.

It wasn't easy to forget that Tōma seemed to be _(seemed, you fool)_ the only kind-hearted man on this ship; not when he looked wide-eyed at the prince as he cupped his face and brought his lips close to his ear. “I will not hurt you”, he whispered, quietly enough that even Euron might not hear. “Forget he is there.”

Aegon noticed goosebumps along Tōma's skin.

_Pyke_

_Daenerys_

“Well, off I go”, Lady Asha said, “to have the captains decide on my husband.”

She still clearly wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but had seen Dany's point. This would go some way towards legitimising her rule, and would placate the priests.

Dany stood aside. “I trust my lady has taken steps to lay your finger on the scales.”

Asha flashed her a smile. “As well as I could.”

She watched her mount, leading a small procession of men. The – well, not _kingsmoot_. Lordmoot? Husbandsmoot? Dany wasn't sure. Either way, it would take place on Old Wyk, so naturally, Lady Asha would be travelling by ship.

Aware that the Iron Throne's influence on the proceedings shouldn't be too obvious, Dany had offered to remain on Pyke.

“What happens if they choose someone truly outlandish?”, Ser Jaime asked her once the procession was out of earshot. “A man too old to bed her? A boy? A eunuch?”

Smiling, Dany shook her head. “I would assume Lady Asha would have the right to disqualify the latter. But worry not, ser – fingers and scales. There will only be two serious candidates: Tristifer Botley and Dennys Drumm. Botley is of Asha's age and should be easy for her to control; Drumm is well-esteemed. Both, I believe, would do fine.”

He didn't ask for any further explanation, which was something Dany appreciated about Ser Jaime. Either he required no explanation to understand all that was happening around him (doubtful), or he was simply content to accept the things he was told (much more likely).

Lysono Maar wasn't in the habit of asking too many questions either, but she was quite sure that this was merely because he didn't want to seem like he was spying on _her._ And that even though he very obviously was, if only on Rhaegar's behalf through Marwyn.

He also was more deeply involved in certain matters that Ser Jaime. “I spoke to a few men from Great Wyk last night”, he told her after they'd journeyed to Lordsport once again; the trip made easier by Lady Asha's absence. “It is generally understood that none of Lord Goodbrother's sons will stand.”

“Very good.” She'd flown Dāero across two nights ago and haggled with the man, promising to find mainland marriages for six out of his eleven remaining unwed daughters; the dowries paid for by the Iron Throne. He would be given some sort of formal counsel position by Lady Asha, and, should Euron Greyjoy be taken alive, be brought to witness his execution – on dragonback if need be.

Dany looked around Maar's room, the plain chamber illuminated by a glass candle. “And your man is sure to attend?”, she asked.

He smiled. “Oh yes.” He'd convinced a ludicrously unsuited candidate to put himself forward in order to contrast with Drumm and Botley. The son of two thralls and apparently a known coward in battle, he was a decently skilled merchant who had made enough coin to buy his own ship and call himself a captain. “The few actual traders on these isles love nothing more than someone from the Free Cities praising their skill and wisdom.”

“I can imagine.” Out of habit, she tried to smooth her skirts, though this was roughspun wool instead of silk or velvet, and wouldn't quite cooperate. “Now tell me, spymaster: Do you believe in sorcery?”

He raised his eyebrows; those on the face that wasn't his but rather that of a Myrish red priest Melisandre had known many decades ago, and pulled a chain with a ruby out from under layers of colourful linen. “Do I, now?”

Dany clicked her tongue. “I grant this was not a well-worded question. Which gods do you believe in, then?”

Maar pursed his lips. “I was raised to worship the Weeping Lady, though I suppose they all exist – not that it matters. Men believe in them and act accordingly; if this belief is based on truth is secondary.”

“That is what I thought.” She sighed and leaned back, sitting on the only chair in the room. “Ser Jaime. You are not an ardent follower or the Seven, am I correct?”

The knight shrugged. “I do like the Warrior, but I have found that prayers are seldom answered and sins do not appear to be punished.”

Dany carefully kept her face from showing a smirk. Yes, she supposed that someone who wasn't a Targaryen and had been bedding his sister for decades, fathering three children that a Lord Paramount believed to be his own – someone like that might become sceptical of the concept of divine retaliation.

“I would agree with the both of you”, she said, “if I did not know that gods of various faiths have influenced events quite strongly.” If it wasn't just sorcery disguised as worship, as Rhae liked to theorise. She was the most knowledgeable person in these matters Dany knew, too, but that didn't help her solve her dilemma. Whether the Drowned God was powerful or whether his followers' belief held the power made no matter, so in the end, Maar wasn't wrong.

“You appear to have something on your mind, princess”, the spy said.

Dany sighed. “I do. Have you learned anything about Euron? Aegon?”

“Perhaps.” He reached for his ear as if to play with his usual jewellery before remembering it wasn't there. “Different men claim different things, and I assume that all tend to exaggerate when in their cups. However, I have been able to piece together that several of them heard their captains speak of the Crow's Eye's wish for a dragon, and his declarations that he would gain one in some way or another. Considering it all, it is obvious that your nephew's capture was a trap – but only the secondary option to the first Euron would have preferred, which was to use the horn.”

That wasn't anything she couldn't have worked out herself. “I thank you for your efforts. Now, if you would be so kind, please leave me with the glass candle. I wish to speak with my brother.”

She'd had to wait some time to speak to Rhaegar, as he'd been busy holding court. Dany hadn't even got to see Rhaenys; only Marwyn, who had eventually managed to fetch the king.

He had, then, approved her plan. This made things easier when she flew Dāero over to Old Wyk much later that same night.

“I increasingly feel like Your Grace has no need of me”, Ser Jaime said after they'd climbed off the dragon, walking along the shore. “What would these Drowned Men do to you that you could not fend off? Pray to their god for a wave to hit you?” He was wrestling with the golden curls flying around his face in the sharp wind, and Dany thought he should consider either a haircut or a braid. “A soaked gown would be unpleasant, I suppose.”

“The Drowned Men are not the priests”, she pointed out, reciting what she'd very recently learned. “Only the acolytes. And I should hope that this god of theirs can do more than inconvenience his enemies, lest our entire journey be rendered quite useless.”

They walked for some time, the beach illuminated by a moon that wasn't quite full yet. The priest was waiting for them alone, standing in the water with the waves hitting his knees.

Dany suppressed a sigh as she gathered her skirts and stepped towards him while Ser Jaime remained behind. The sea immediately soaked her boots and stockings, but they could be dried and washed. “Who won?”, she asked when she was close enough to speak without needing to raise her voice.

“Botley.” The Damphair didn't show what he thought of it.

Interesting, that. If Dany had had to place a wager, she would've put her coin on Drumm. Perhaps Lady Asha had done better at influencing the course of events than she'd expected. “Do you approve?”

Aeron cast his eyes over the beach. The Iron Islands didn't exactly have huge tracts of land, and yet, most of it seemed to be empty at all times. “The captains chose him on Nagga's hill. Hence, it is godly.”

Fine. “Will you be the one to wed them?”

“Yes.” Even better. “On the morrow, on this most holy island.”

Dany nodded. “A sacred union, then.”

“Do not speak to me of what is sacred.”

She'd overstepped, but didn't plan on going back now. “But that, Damphair, is exactly what I intend to do.” Dany decided to simply drop her skirts into the water to better gesticulate, stretching out her hands. “I stand in the sea with you, priest. I played my part in arranging for your lord to be chosen by your custom. I will never worship your god, and you do not want me to, but I understand that he watches over the ironborn and thus, I wish to appease him.” A wave crashed against them, soaking both from their chests downwards. Neither flinched. “We need not be friends, but we have both friends and enemies in common, making us as good as allies.” The wind tore at her hood and she flicked it off her head. “As such, I ask you as the most foremost of the Drowned God's priests: What else can be done?”

The waves crashed against rocks, the wind slightly let up. Dany had no idea if these had been the right words.

“The god has spoken to me”, Aeron said, so quiet she almost couldn't hear him over the sounds of the sea. “About the Crow's Eye; the kinslayer. He demands sacrifice to right the wrongs.”

Dany took a deep breath of the salt air. This was her opportunity to either make the suggestion or leave it be. “The Lady Asha has prisoners from the battle”, she pointed out. “Some of them Euron's own men, others those of the lords who fought for him. Surely, they would serve.”

She had him, then. From the look in his eyes, Dany couldn't tell whether it was her suggestion of mass ritual sacrifice or the way the moon had to light her hair and face just right (he still was a man, after all), but she'd gained at least a bit of approval from the priest's side.


	25. Mother

_King's Landing_

_Rhaenys_

Things were miserable at the Red Keep. Jon Arryn's death had done nothing to raise the overall mood, and the uncertainty all felt was almost tangible. It hadn't helped when little Monterys Velaryon had arrived from Driftmark, originally sent to take his place at Aegon's squire and now just another lost little boy like one of the many that had been here before.

“The way I see it”, she told her parents, “it should be possible to achieve something through sorcery – but not easy. A large sacrifice most likely, to supplement the small amount of king's blood we can shed. And, ideally, fire.”

The king's fingers were at his neck, feeling the bulging parts of his scar. “I do not quite see how we could possibly kill that many people. The black cells are near empty and our enemies defeated.”

“Of course, those are not matters that the red priestess would have us consider”, her mother said. “She seems to believe that the best course of action would be to burn alive all those who have ever done the slightest amount of wrong, though I do not know if she realises that this would mean the entire Red Keep and most of King's Landing.”

This did sound like Melisandre, though Rhaenys hadn't been permitted to speak with her ever since Jon Arryn's death. The same applied to Loras. Both these companions were thus gone, Aegon was still imprisoned, Dany had been sent to take charge of the rebellion's aftermath on the Iron Islands, Jae was with Lyanna, Sarella at sea on her return from the Iron Islands – in other words, Rhaenys only had her parents for company. Or Lysa and the ladies at court, but she avoided them as much as she was allowed to.

“At least”, she said, reclining on her couch in her father's solar, “we know where he is, and what Euron wants.” They would even if she hadn't spoken to Aegon through the glass candle: a raven had arrived. They were still not sure how the Crow's Eye could've sent it unless he kept some on his ship, but were quite certain that it had truly come from him.

The king poured them all some wine. “There is always the option of arranging the handover and betraying him then. We know that none of the dragons would ever obey him – even if we wanted them to.”

“Unless”, Rhaenys sighed, “their rider dies. I would not be surprised if Euron was planning on not only killing Aegon, but also at least the rider of whichever dragon he might gain from all this. In that case, the horn may actually be of use.” She and Marwyn had consulted some of the most ancient texts in their possession, and this conclusion appeared reasonable.

Her father hummed and her mother stared into her cup. “Sorcery it must be, then. Which brings us back to the same issue as before: we could not possibly sacrifice the necessary amount.”

“It has occurred to me that Viserys' pyre could have been of use”, the king said. Rhaenys nodded to that – she'd had the same thought before. “We should not have simply burned him, but made it a ritual. The life of one with king's blood...” He trailed off. “It is unfortunate we do not have any unneeded relatives willing to sacrifice themselves, nor enemies of another royal line.”

There _was_ a possibility, but she didn't dare suggest it. Kinslaying, of course, was no option.

“Oh”, her mother said, quite suddenly. “There is still Aemon at the Wall.”

He hadn't been who Rhaenys had been thinking of, but it wasn't a bad idea.

Her father looked horrified at first, then thoughtful. “He is very old”, he conceded. “I would not be surprised if he consented to dying so that Aegon may be saved. But to suggest such a thing would be terrible.”

The more she thought about it, the more Rhaenys was convinced that it could be done. “Would it?”, she asked. “He is how old, now? Over a hundred years. I could find Jae with the glass candle and we could tell him to return to the Wall – I would not be surprised if Aemon suggested it himself.”

She'd only been to Castle Black once, several years ago, but the maester had struck her as the type willing to do such a thing.

“We _are_ forgetting that he is a maester”, her mother said. “He is no longer meant to serve this House.”

Still – Rhaenys thought it was worth a try. Before she could say this, however, a knock sounded on the door.

It was Ser Arthur, wearing a grave expression. “Lady Lysa has gone into labour.”

Her mother sighed, her father swore. Rhaenys had to keep herself from smiling because this was _exactly_ what she'd hoped would happen (though she hadn't dared to make it so).

“That is about three moons too early”, her mother pointed out.

Quite so. “Please close the door, Arthur”, the king said, and looked at her, and she knew they were thinking the same.

Rhaenys cleared her throat and stood. “The child will not live”, she stated, glanced at Ser Arthur, and was sure that it would be fine for him to hear this. “Of course, the maesters and midwives must do all they can, but we know how this will end. If it is even born alive, it will not remain so.”

“Regrettably, yes”, her mother agreed, having caught on. “It would have been good to have something of Viserys left in this world.”

“Naturally.” She truly shouldn't have the impulse to grin – this was _awful_. “This also means we will soon have a dead babe of king's blood in this castle.” It wasn't kinslaying if the child was already dead. “A body we would burn either way.”

“I”, her father said, then put down his cup (still half full) and stood as well. “I believe that what you are implying, Rhaenys, feels like a great wrong. Yet, it is not, at least considering any godly laws I am aware of.”

“Can I see this as expressing my king's permission?”, she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. “More than that – your mother and I will help.”

_On the_ Silence

_Aegon_

He was more tired than he'd ever been. Aegon wasn't sure how he should feel about what had just happened, but was very certain that he didn't want to think about it.

Not thinking had been quite nice, just then.

A snort came from beyond the bars. “You have been with men before.” Euron sounded displeased.

Aegon couldn't see if his captor had had a physical reaction to the spectacle, though he did wonder – of course, Uncle Oberyn had mentioned more than once that too much shade of the evening could render a cock rather useless. The prince liked that thought.

“As Your Grace said.” He looked to Tōma, who'd sat down on the floor, rather dazed, and was avoiding his father's gaze. “I am half Dornish.” Which had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he enjoyed both men and women, but it was the best answer he could come up with.

He couldn't even muster the energy to lace up his breeches. “Tōma”, Euron said in an altogether different voice, “come here. A bastard, a mongrel, a catamite. Might as well throw you over board.”

His accent sounded awful. It wasn't High Valyrian; far from it, yet not even a dialect of the Free Cities. Aegon closed his eyes, doing his best to make himself _not care_ about whatever would happen.

He just about managed to dress again before drifting off into another bout of fitful sleep. Tōma's face stayed with him in his dreams, though it soon turned into Alyn Connington's. This made him remember the day he'd realised Lord Jon was in love with his father. Then he noticed, horrified, that his former squire no longer lived; was just the drowned corpse he'd seen after Lannisport.

Aegon relived his own near-drowning. First, his armour pulled him under and water filled his lungs by the side of the _Pride of Driftmark_ ; next, it happened in the hull of the _Silence_ as a storm ravaged the Sunset Sea. Aegon saw himself dying again during the battle at Pyke, and remembered the agonised cry of the dragon he'd heard.

By the gods, what had even happened? He knew it hadn't been Rhae, but he saw the rest of them dead – his brother overrun by a slew of attackers, Dany tumbling off Daero and falling into the sea, Viserys with his head half chopped off by an ironman's axe, the king himself dying by a thousand cuts after his men had abandoned him.

He heard a voice, dry and old but clearly noble and oddly familiar – _Our history is writ in blood_ , it told him, as if that was any sort of explanation. _Three centuries of triumph and glory; pain and misery._

Aegon didn't know who'd been speaking to him, but he couldn't argue with the assessment. From the Conqueror's wrath at the first Rhaenys' death to his grandfather's madness and his grandmother's end on the birthing bed – they were only bookends to a troubled history. _Yet_ , the voice continued, _it is for a purpose, provided we remain strong. If we are unable to do what needs to be done, then it is all for nought._

He must've been twisting in his sleep, because Aegon next hit his elbow against a crate and woke, though this did not make the feeling of a presence go away, concerningly enough.

 _Worry not_ , the voice assured him. _You are not going mad._

He stared up at the dark ceiling, the only sound a rat scuttling around in the distance. _That is exactly what I would think if I_ was _going mad._

 _You shall see the truth of that soon._ More images were shown to him even though his eyes were wide open; of the Great Sept of Baelor and a crown on his head and the Iron Throne –

The implication filled him with terror. _Your father lives_ , the voice assured him. _But all men must die. And then, what sort of king will you be? A dragon king, one would hope_.

He sat up slowly, every part of him aching. Shaking his head didn't make the voice disappear. _As it stands, I am little more than a hostage prince who was just made to fuck his captor's son while he watched. And, whoever you are, you may be aware that I fly no dragon_. He frowned, then thought about it, and concluded: _The only explanation I have that still preserves my sanity is that you are Bloodraven_.

There were steps again; those of several men. This was never good news. _Of course I am. And you do not need to ride a dragon in order to be one, Aegon. See what I show you. Feel it._

The steps faded from his hearing. He felt first warm, then hot, though in a way that seemed to mend his aches. The prince stared at his hands because he was sure there was something growing from his fingers, and could swear that a fine gust of smoke left his nose as he breathed out.

Then he noticed that Euron and his men were in the cell, and slowly turned his head to them. The Crow's Eye tried to approach menacingly with a torch held high, though Aegon looked at him and saw: prey.

“Now, little prince.” His captor crouched beside him, the torch always high, and Aegon stared into the flame. “I am enjoying your company, but honour compels me to tell you the truth. I have sent my terms to your father. He either gives me the dragon or does not – but whichever way he chooses, you will never leave this ship alive.”

How had he never noticed before that far below the threatening drawl, Euron's voice was shaking? Aegon felt as if he had more teeth in his mouth all of a sudden, all long as swords and sharp as Valyrian steel. They made it difficult to speak. “Does Your Grace wish to elaborate?”

He wasn't sure how he'd sounded, but noticed that Euron's eyes darted over his face with a hint of surprise. Then, the smirk was back. “Gladly. Now, I know your House likes to burn your dead, so I thought I could save us all a step. When the time comes, I will have you slowly roasted on a pyre.”

His finger caressed Aegon's cheek in mock affection, though the touch seemed distant; as if coming through a thick layer of scales. “We will start with your feet and work our way up”, the Crow's Eye said. “Your pretty face will be last. Tell me, do you know what it feels like to burn?”

The flames on the torch danced beautifully. “Painful, one would assume.”

“I am here so you do not need to assume any longer. Give me your hand, little prince.”

Aegon did as told. He could be a dragon king, Bloodraven had said. Well, for now he was the Prince of Dragonstone, and in his mind's eye, he saw himself as one of the great beasts that made up the castle.

He offered no resistance as Euron led his hand to the torch, and then pushed the flame into his palm.

It felt nice. A pleasant warmth, just like sinking into a bath on a chilly day. He thought that he would quite like to run the torch over his body so the heat could soothe his soreness.

Now, Aegon couldn't resist to look at his captor's face. Euron studied him with narrowed eyes. “Are you so far gone already that you no longer feel the pain?”, he asked.

To the deepest of the seven hells with it all – his patience was at an end. Frowning slightly, Aegon took his hand away from the torch, showing Euron the unblemished skin. “Pain, Your Grace?”

Yes, _there_ it was; satisfying enough that whatever happened next just had to be worth it: The Crow's Eye was shocked.

Suddenly, he had the torch thrust into his face, soon followed by the smell of burning hair. They might have shorn his head, but Aegon was in dire need of a shave. Perhaps this could replace it.

His back felt as if it was about to sprout wings; his skin was made of thick scale. When Euron forced the torch into his mouth, he heard the sizzle of the flames being extinguished, and thought that the warmth was as comforting as a cup of the ginger tea his mother liked so well.

The taste of soot was less pleasant, but the torch was soon removed. The Crow's Eye stared at it, then forced open Aegon's mouth to examine the complete look of damage. The prince complied while fighting back a grin.

The last time he'd tried to pinch a candle out with his fingers, it had hurt. He could only assume that Bloodraven was behind this.

Naturally, it couldn't all be sweet victory. As so often, Euron's men moved in silent unison. They gave him the worst beating yet, involving rods that split his skin, and he no longer felt like he had scales.

He only found relief from the pain when he lost consciousness. Aegon regained it after what may have been several hours, and hurt worse than he could have ever imagined.

He didn't think anything was broken, though an ankle could have been sprained. But every single part of him felt bruised and much was bloodied, and he did feel like retching but couldn't quite bring himself to move enough to do anything about it.

Then there were the soft, lithe steps, and a gentle voice rang out. _“Dārilaros.”_ Prince.

Aegon opened one eye – even this was difficult. Tōma knelt by the bars, holding the usual ration. He, too, looked quite beat-up.

He'd also brought him a small, wooden tub of something. Aegon reached for it first, using as little motion as he could, and Tōma helpfully gave it a push to make it slide some of the way.

Aegon opened it and smelled its contents. It was an ointment not unlike what he'd use on bruises after a sparring, and a smell that took him back to what felt like a very different time.

This would help, he knew. Aegon had no idea whether this was part of Euron's mind games, but in this moment, he didn't care in the least.


	26. Crone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not have noticed that some of the earlier chapter titles have a little “I” next to them now. This is purely because I've decided I'll be recycling those later on because I. Hate. Titles. I should've stuck to just indicating the POV, really.

_Pyke_

_Daenerys_

Two days after she'd met Aeron on Old Wyk, they were on the island once again, though on a different beach. Dany was there in an official capacity now, dressed in a gown of black brocade and adorned with a few rubies, though hopefully not too many for these isles' rather understated tastes.

She stood by Lady Asha's side, Ser Jaime at her back. The highest lords of the Iron Islands were in attendance, which of course included Asha's new husband.

It wasn't raining, but a stiff wind blew. The moon was full, now, and shone with an unusual brightness, making the torches around them rather unnecessary.

“We ironborn”, the Lady Reaper of Pyke began, “have shed too much of each other's blood. It began when the Crow's Eye killed my brother, his wife, and the babe in her belly. He stands accursed as a kinslayer.”

“Kinslayer!”, the Damphair repeated, and the other priests and Drowned Men hissed the word once more. “The gravest sin against the god.”

“He led you into a war he was always sure to lose”, Asha continued, taking steps towards the sea. Between her and the priests knelt a row of prisoners; thirty-nine in number, with their hands tied behind their backs. “He brought you to Lannisport because he wanted a great many to die. It didn't matter to him if they were greenlanders or ironborn – all that mattered was their blood and their deaths.” She turned to face the lords. Her long sealskin cloak fluttered in the wind, and Dany approved of the choice of garment. “He had the dragons come to Pyke in the vain hope that he could gain one for himself – but he is ironborn! Are we meant to fly? Is the kraken supposed to soar through the skies; through the Storm God's domain?”

“We sail!”, Aeron replied. “The kraken belongs to the sea.”

The voices of the others echoed his words in unison: “Sail! Sea!”

“And now”, Asha boomed, “he has run away rather than face his fate. He hides with his tail between his legs like the craven he is.”

“Craven!”, the priests repeated.

Lady Asha grabbed the first of the prisoners by the hair, ignoring the man's pleas. “To our Drowned God; to Him Who Dwells Beneath the Waves, we give the lives of those who served the Crow's Eye – kinslayer, traitor, and coward. If they fought bravely in life, they will join the god in his watery halls. If not, the fish will feast on their corpses.”

She dragged the stumbling man to the water with more strength than Dany would've anticipated, then kicked his legs out from under him and held his head down with her hands.

The princess forced herself to watch it all. By the end, nine-and-thirty men would be floating face-down in the tide.

The sea was calm as the wind subsided. “Worse than dragon flame”, Ser Jaime said into her ear while Asha and Aeron drowned the twentieth and twenty-first, “but better than wildfire.”

A small comfort. Yet, as the Damphair declared that the god would surely be pleased at the sacrifice and strike the Crow's Eye down, Dany knew it would have at least one of the desired effects: The priests and Lady Asha had been reconciled, and very publicly so.

Hopefully, the other purpose could also be fulfilled. If this could go any ways towards ending Euron and freeing Aegon, she would have had thrice that number killed.

_Greywater Watch_

_Jaehaerys_

It had taken half a day's worth of trudging through the swamps of the Neck until they reached the seat of House Reed. Jaehaerys had simply landed Rhovio in the largest open spot he'd been able to find and then waited, and of course, a crannogman had eventually emerged and offered to bring him to his lord.

He'd visited before, but was once again struck by how strange of a place it was – and yet, oddly reminiscent of the Planky Town down in Dorne. But where the orphans traded under an oft-burning sun, Greywater was much less busy and significantly wetter. Somehow, he thought he preferred even walking through snow to the perpetual mud of the Neck.

For the final part of their journey, the man who'd collected Jaehaerys rowed a small boat towards the large crannog. Several storeys of light wooden construction formed the keep, which even boasted towers connected by bridges – simultaneously chaotic and impressive in its intricacy.

They found Howland Reed sitting alone by a different dock than the one they'd arrived on, feet dangling in the water. He was wearing a shirt of bronze scales and breeches made from the skin of a lizard-lion, a fishing rod hung in the water next to him, and he was wrapping a leather handle around a sickle made of bronze. If it hadn't been for the runes laying scattered on the dock by his side, Jaehaerys would have thought that he hadn't been expected.

Lord Howland didn't look up as they approached, but still rose on nimble feet and bowed. “Your Grace. It is good you are here.”

The prince dipped his head. “My lord. I hope you did not wait for too long.”

Reed's strange green eyes caught his. “It is not I who has been waiting.”

With that, he dismissed the other man and bid Jaehaerys to sit. A different lord would've received him in his great hall, had him shown to his rooms, and at least organised a small-scale feast before getting to the matter at hand.

“Are your children here?”, he asked as he sat down cross-legged on the dock, casting a glance at the runes. Two lay face-up in the middle of the others: _Magnar_ , for a lord or king, and _Anmas_ , for an heir or simply a son.

Lord Howland resumed tying the leather around the handle. “They are north of the Wall”, he said matter-of-factly. “With the three-eyed crow and your cousin Brandon.”

Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. “I see.” Jaehaerys glanced over the swamp, noting all kinds of animals moving across the trees. Further on, a few other men were fishing as well. “And who is waiting for me?”

“The North. The Wall.” Reed pulled the leather tight. “You have been distracted for too long.”

This was always the problem with the gods and those closest to them: they didn't appreciate divided attentions. “I do not know if my lord has heard, but there _was_ a war. My uncle was killed and my brother imprisoned.”

“Yes. The three-eyed crow's mistake come back to haunt the realm.” Both noticed that the fishing line was moving. While Reed pulled it in, Jaehaerys reached for his own runes, thought of Aegon, and grabbed the first to touch his hands.

 _Wegan_. Pain and suffering.

Reed saw this just before he pulled the fish out of the water. A smallish carp.

“Who were you thinking of?”, he asked, grabbing his slippery catch with one sure hand while the other removed the hook.

Jaehaerys wondered how Meera and Jojen had been getting on beyond the Wall – he was sure they had many skills, but survival in the swamps didn't necessarily translate to that very different landscape. “My brother.”

Lord Howland cast him a glance, seemingly not even noticing that the fish was desperately trying to free itself. “I will help if I can”, he said. “That is why you came, is it not?”

“It is. The Crown and I would greatly appreciate it. I should add that my mother sends her regards.”

“Of course. I assume she will passing through soon.” Reed looked at the fish, then shook his head. “Too young”, he announced, and threw it back into the water.

Blooraven was there as soon as he touched the weirwood. _I know_ , was the first thing Jaehaerys heard from his side. _Aegon._

So he didn't need to waste any time explaining. _Can you help him?_

 _Not much._ Jaehaerys was shown an image that made him want to punch the tree out of rage and frustration: Aegon, malnourished, injured, and dirty on the floor of a cell. _I have spoken to him. His mind remains his own, but the Crow's Eye grows bored. I could not say what he might inflict on him for the pure sake of entertainment._

Jaehaerys could, in fact, come up with several things he would like to do to Euron. _Do you have any suggestions as to what might be done?_ , he asked.

For a heartbeat, he could see the faces of the children of the forest. _I can do little, Jaehaerys. My powers depend on the trees, and I have other matters to attend to_. He was shown Bran in the cave he'd journeyed to himself, seemingly sleeping. _The children know of magic that can shake the earth and the seas, however. Those here with me will not intervene – why would they? – but the crannogmen still know some of their secrets._

If only he could get those out of them. _Lord Reed will only act if the gods support it._

 _The gods_ , Bloodraven said, and suddenly Jaehaerys felt them once more, _are not too fond of the Crow's Eye. Worry not – Lord Reed will help, and besides, Rhaenys and Daenerys are doing their part._

With that, he was gone. The prince frowned at the tree's face. What had that meant?

He supposed that if he had to spend several decades rotting in a tree, he would also develop a flair for the dramatic.

“Well, essentially”, he said and turned around, “the three-eyed crow says it is up to you. The gods approve of any action against Euron.”

While he'd been speaking to Bloodraven, Lord Howland had very swiftly killed a rabbit they'd brought with them. He was now using the sickle from earlier to cut it open, examining its innards. “This is strange”, he said. “Come and see, Your Grace.”

Curious, Jaehaerys knelt before the rabbit and looked at its flesh. It was – “Cooked”, he said, astonished. “Add some salt and spices and we could call it supper.”

“It was alive mere moments ago.” Reed poked at the flesh, perhaps a tad overdone. “This certainly means something, but what?”

Before Jaehaerys could make any further comments, the lord took his pouch of runes, emptied it onto the ground, and slid the sickle over his arm to draw blood. He held it up and picked the first rune it dripped onto: “Rendyk.” An enemy.

“Interesting”, the prince said, gleefully imagining how Euron burned. “Now, will you help?”

Reed stood. “Yes. Once the sun has set – it is a full moon tonight.”

He'd never before had the chance to see Howland Reed at work, and was quite looking forward to it. The man had been to the Isle of Faces; a feat none other had accomplished, and had been instrumental in bringing his parents together.

Much of what he was able to do had to be due to the singing, Jaehaerys thought as they returned to the weirwood during the night. His voice became low, chanting words in the Old Tongue that were peppered with the sounds made by the children of the forest; sounding more like Bloodraven's cave than the wildling camp. Everything around them quieted while Lord Reed's voice spread – animals and even the wind itself halted as if to listen.

Jaehaerys' own role only consisted in giving blood to the weirwood's roots, which was easy enough. He then pressed his hand to the bark and closed his eyes, trying to decipher the song.

There were mentions of a kraken and the sea, of death and sin, and of a captive prince. Soon enough, he could see the water in his mind's eye, looking out from a weirwood on a northern shore. And then he felt it in his body: the ground moving beneath him; roots moving like waves, salty air and a harsh wind. He heard the strangest cries, saw a dark blade dripping blood, the shapes of two men either wrestling or fucking on a shore strewn with corpses.

It was day and night; a pale sun behind grey clouds and the full moon in a black sky. He was in the swamp and in a forest by a shore, but a storm raged through both.

 _Kinslayer, kinslayer_ , the gods said, _traitor, false acolyte, Crow's Eye. Enemies fail._

Lord Reed's voice sounded like the wind whipping at his face. Jaehaerys rather wanted the enemy to die than merely fail, but didn't want to interrupt anything to point this out.

 _This enemy dies_ , the gods replied anyway, having heard his thoughts, _by fire and blood._ _The Crow's Eye fears no storm._

Still, he saw one; watched the _Silence_ alone being thrown around by waves and driven towards land. _My brother is on there_ , he said, fearful.

And then Jaehaerys saw more: Several dozen corpses floating out into the tide from a different shore, flames rising from the Dragonpit back home. _Dragon Princes_ , the gods commented. _Whole. Together._

Reed's chant now sounded like creaking and breaking; like a ship smashed against rocks. Water hit him, not salty but full of mud, and Jaehaerys opened his physical eyes to see that the waters of the swamp were thrashing around them and the ground at their feet was shifting. Lord Howland sat in the middle of it all, one hand in the weirwood's mouth and the other buried deep into the soil, green eyes shining as he stared up to the sky.

Perhaps, the prince thought, having his children with Bran would do much good after all.

_King's Landing_

_Rhaenys_

Viserys' last attempt at a child had only been in the world for less than an hour before succumbing to death. They ensured that Lysa, half dead herself but likely to survive, was given plenty of milk of the poppy.

It was perhaps cruel that she wouldn't witness the babe's funeral, but if she was only barely conscious for long enough, she wouldn't have credible grounds to complain or cast any suspicions on their motives.

Now, they were at the Dragonpit in the middle of the night. A full moon above illuminated Vēzos' golden scales, casting the backdrop for the small pyre they'd built.

Her tiny cousin would have been a little girl. Shaena, they'd named her; just like her grandmother's stillbirth. Rhaenys held the bundle in her arms as they stood before the pyre, all dressed in robes of black and red.

She'd had her mother paint her body underneath; could feel the sticky glyphs of blood and pigment clinging to her skin. The princess closed her eyes and began to breath rhythmically, gradually increasing the speed until she felt light-headed, her heart was beating fast in her chest, and the glyphs were warm and dry.

Her parents' voices were a low chant in High Valyrian, speaking to the ancient gods. Rhaenys slowly stepped forward and placed the bundle upon the pyre as Vēzos stirred.

Then she knelt and pulled forth her strongest feelings. She imagined Shaena as she might have lived; a lady of royal blood becoming the spitting image of Viserys, and she mourned her. Rhaenys thought of the girl's father, who'd grown up amongst the fear and misery of King Aerys' rule and died by an enemy's axe. She remembered the tragedy of her grandfather's decline and his sister-wife's dutiful life and death.

And the terror of the true foe still awaiting them; their opposite made of ice and death. And Jae and Dany, who were destined to face him.

And Aegon, now in the stinking hull of a ship as he was starved and beaten every day. The way he'd looked when she'd seen him and had yet tried to put on a brave face. The injustice that one such as him would be subjected to this treatment by the Crow's Eye; the would-be god and blasphemer.

Rhaenys starred up at little Shaena and felt the pain, rage, and desperation of it all, but _saw_ the triumph that there could be – would be, once her will was cast into the world.

The glyphs burned hot, tears ran down her cheeks, sobs shook her body. Her parents' voices filled her ears, keeping her mind fixed on the higher plane. “Shaena of House Targaryen”, she choked out, “the blood of the dragon, now returns to the flames from whence she came. Gods, take her life and blood and do my will, for I am yours and you are I, and our intent shall continue to shape this world. _Dracarys_.”

The heat reached its apex when Vēzos' flame hit the pyre, drying Rhaenys' tears in one. She let out a scream and clawed her fists into the ground, covered in centuries of ash and bones as it was.

Then it was all gone. She looked at the burning pyre, feeling overwhelming relief, and began to laugh away the pain.


	27. Warrior

_On the_ Silence

_Aegon_

Seven Above, this was painful.

He hardly dared to move. The cuts weren't really the problem, shallow as they were, but the bruises and soreness _hurt_. Tōma's salve had only done so much, after all.

Quietly groaning, he unclenched his jaw and tried to look at the ceiling, although it was too dark to do so. The _Silence_ was rocking back and forth in what seemed to be heavy waves, which his stomach didn't appreciate.

 _Aegon_ , he heard, and blinked. He still wasn't entirely sure if he was imagining Rhae's and Bloodraven's voices, or if they truly spoke to him from time to time. _Aegon_ , he heard again, and it sadly wasn't his wife speaking.

 _What is it?_ , he thought, very slowly moving his legs. _Can you not tell I am busy being miserable?_

Bloodraven didn't appreciate that. _A storm is coming_.

He sighed, though even that hurt. _Is that a metaphor?_

 _No._ _You are on a ship. There will be a very literal storm._

Oh, great. That was just what he'd needed. As if on cue, the ship seemed to be thrown from port to starboard with special force; sending some of the crates hurling towards him. Avoiding them hurt just as much as being hit would have, he thought. _Will this be how I die?_ , he asked. _Drowning after all?_

 _This is how you are freed. Do not fear the storm; Aegon, it is for you. The Crow's Eye has gone to another ship to give instructions, believing that your father is planning a handover. The_ Silence _will be separated from the other two._

He frowned up at the ceiling, then tried to stand, though he was thrown back to the ground by the ship's movements – which did increasingly seem out of control. Now, if he was going mad after all, then the information he'd just received wasn't true. It also didn't matter in the slightest, as the question of him living or dying was beyond his control at this stage.

The ship was thrown around some more, and Aegon dragged himself to his feet to grab onto the bars to his cell. He didn't even hear the steps this time, but very much noticed the audible thud of Tōma being cast down the stairs by a wave.

Aegon watched him pick himself back up, clutching a large bottle wrapped in cloth. He walked across with the surefootedness of someone raised on a ship before reaching him the bottle through the bars.

The prince took of the cork and smelled its contents. Strong alcohol, clearly, and not much else.

He shook his head. “Unlock the door”, he said.

Tōma's eyes went wide. “I cannot do this.” Then, they were briefly interrupted by another wave rocking the ship; more crates sliding towards him and Aegon barely avoiding being crushed.

He grabbed Tōma by the collar and drew him close. _“Kostilus”_ ; please. “Let me go. We will both drown either way, and he is not on this ship. He cannot hurt us.” Aegon stared into his eyes, trying not to look at the sword on the wall behind him. “Let me see the sky one more time before I die.”

He could see the conflicting emotions, and finally the decision. Tōma reached for the key and unlocked the door – and if he hadn't, Aegon was quite sure that he would have died in this, no matter what Bloodraven said about the storm being “for him”.

The prince grabbed Tōma's head and kissed him on the lips, then strode over and took Blackfyre off the wall. As soon as his fingers closed around the handle, he felt a surge of energy – and now, things made sense again.

As he turned around, he could see Tōma shrink back, terror on his face. Aegon shook his head. “Not you”, he said, then made for the stairs – and immediately ran into one of Euron's men.

Or rather: The man ran into his sword. There were half a dozen of them, but at such close quarters, they had to advance one by one. The prince was in no mood for mercy and Blackfyre made killing so _easy_ ; cutting through everything like soft butter.

Accordingly, they all died. He had Tōma, who didn't seem inclined to argue, help him move the bodies aside so they could go up the stairs.

The truth of Bloodraven's words became increasingly clear to him. Aegon was weak after however long he'd been imprisoned; battered and starved. He shouldn't have any strength in his arms, yet he slew everyone he met without much effort, wasn't ever hit by any of the objects sent flying as the ship was thrown around by the waves, and never fell onto Blackfyre – which he honestly feared to be a possibility, considering how unstable it all was.

Then, finally: fresh air. He'd reached the deck after having killed gods knew how many men, dripping blood and sweat, and now felt the wind upon him. Waves crashed onto the ship, the sky was of a steely dark grey, the gale tore on the clothes flapping around his famished frame.

Gods, which ecstasy. Aegon slew one more man in passing (the Ibbenese, he realised) before grabbing onto the railing with one hand and seeing land.

A long, ragged coastline stretched out before him, covered by a dense forest but for a short stretch of what couldn't truly be called a beach. Sharp rocks lined it – a particularly vicious set of which they were rapidly hurling towards.

He ducked behind the railing so as to not be thrown overboard, somehow finding traction for both hands and feet despite the general state of wetness. Then the impact came, making his teeth shatter and rattling his bones.

Wood split as he heard men dying. The crew of the _Silence_ sounded strange screams, lacking in tongues as they were. Blackfyre slipped out of his grasp and slid down the deck towards the stairs to the forecastle, where it fell right into the neck of a man who'd been about to crawl out.

Aegon stared at it. Had someone bribed half the gods of the known world to save him?

Upon reflection, he thought the answer was yes. The prince ran towards his sword and took it back, the body of the man falling down into the hull. There were still men belowdecks, though the ship was rapidly filling with water, and he suspected many were drowning.

And there was Tōma, standing behind the body with no expression at all. Aegon beckoned to him before he turned to find out how to get off this. Surely enough, the configuration of rocks they'd crashed into looked suspiciously like stairs.

He jumped over the railing. Getting down onto land on the slippery stone and with Blackfyre in his hand was much easier than it should have been – because of course it was. _This storm is for you_ , Bloodraven had said.

His feet touched the earth, and he wanted to laugh, cry, scream... and sleep. By the gods, he was tired to his bones.

Not that it was time to rest yet. Turning around, he saw Tōma climbing down after him, followed by more of Euron's men.

Aegon clenched his teeth, hurled Tōma behind him as soon as he'd come down, and raised his sword. He recognised some from his beatings, which made killing them all the sweeter. He severed the foot of the one who'd kicked most viciously before slicing open his throat, opened the guts of the one who'd always go for the belly, stabbed the groin of the man who'd often aimed for his own. Helpfully, some slipped as they tried to climb down, falling to break their necks in such ridiculous fashion that he could easily imagine how a bored deity somewhere on the higher plane was getting creative.

And then, suddenly, they were all dead. The _Silence_ was a wreck before him, blood seeping off her deck and out of her hull. All around lay corpses.

He turned around slowly, feeling his hand weaken as Blackfyre slipped out of his grasp. Aegon didn't know what to say when he looked to Tōma, who stared at all that had happened, and then at him, and opened his mouth as if to speak –

Something changed in his eyes; his jaw clenched shut. He fell upon Aegon more quickly than he'd ever seen anyone move, throwing him to the ground, clutching his hands around his neck.

The prince tried to scream, but his throat was shut. He stared into Tōma's eyes, trying to communicate _something_ – but that wasn't him, clearly. To look at him was to look into Euron's black eye.

He knew he should be gouging at his eyes, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Desperate, he grabbed the other's throat in turn, and somehow turned them around so that he was on top, then punched his face as hard as he could. The grasp around his own neck was briefly loosened; enough so that he could gasp for air and cry _“Tōma”_. Aegon slapped him, trying to wake him from his trance because this wasn't the man who'd been kind to him; the one who must've suffered at Euron's hands for years...

But whether he was acting on his own behalf or somehow possessed by the Crow's Eye, the outcome would be the same if Aegon didn't manage to break free. He managed to pry one hand from his throat and bit down, then punched at the other man's chest and face.

Still, Tōma did not let up. He was wriggling under him to move away, towards Blackfyre –

No. By the Warrior, he couldn't be killed with his own sword. It all happened more quickly than he could even understand – one moment, Aegon saw Tōma's hand inch towards the grip. The next, he held Blackfyre himself, and then suddenly, there was even more blood and a large gap in his neck and his eyes lost all traces of Euron, staring vacant at the sky.

He looked down, stunned, and wanted to throw the sword into the sea. “Fuck”, he whispered to himself, rolled off Tōma, then screamed because all he was feeling had to go somewhere. “Fuck. I am so sorry.”

Not that this would make him any less dead.

The storm had let up, which was something he only noticed now. It was _gone_ ; not even the gentlest breeze remaining. All around him, the world was still.

Aegon could do nothing more than lie there, sobbing, until consciousness left him.

“I think this one's still alive.”

He felt a hand on his neck. The next heartbeat, Aegon was sitting upright, pointing Blackfyre at an astonished man's face.

The one before him stumbled back. There were two others, who turned to them in alarm – first, he noted that one had a hatchet and the other an axe, though not the kind most suited for battle. Then, the rest became clear: they were smallfolk, obviously, and no fighters.

For a strange moment, they just stared at him and he at them. He saw realisation dawn on their faces, too: Putting together that most of the dead around them hadn't drowned when the ship went down but been killed by a blade, and that he was the only one still living. And had a blade.

For one of them, at least, this appeared to be cause for panic rather than curiosity. Though the one with Blackfyre in his face was still staring at the dark and bloody sword in astonishment and the other tried to hold him back, the axe-wielder came towards Aegon with swift steps. “Ironborn scum”, he fumed, sounding _very_ northern. “Glad your own quarrels picked off the rest, but we'll not have -”

He stopped as the sword was pointed as his belly. “Goodman”, Aegon said, trying to somehow sound friendly – and as southern and highborn as he possibly could, which wasn't hard. “I would quite like for you to not name me ironborn.”

The axe-wielder frowned. The one with the hatchet came up behind him, steps measured, and nodded to the wreck fo the _Silence_. “That's one of their ships”, he pointed out.

True enough. “And I have been able to escape from it”, Aegon replied, turning his gaze to the first one.

This would have been easier if they hadn't shorn his head. “Look at my eyes, if you please.”

Though the man clearly wasn't comfortable being in Blackfyres' reach, it was obvious that curiosity got the better of him. “They're like m'lady's”, he announced to the others.

That was not the conclusion Aegon had wanted him to reach, but workable nonetheless. Especially as his told him exactly whose lands he was on: “You are Stark men?”, he asked.

There was, after all, only one purple-eyed lady he could think of in the North. “Aye”, the one with the hatchet replied. “these lands belong to Ironwood Hall.”

Relieved, Aegon sunk back onto the ground. If they assumed him to be Ashara's relative, they wouldn't harm him. “Do take me there”, he mumbled. “Your lord will thank you.”

He was in an entirely different world as he woke.

Every inch of him hurt, obviously. This wasn't unexpected.

The rest was much stranger – for one, he was lying on something very comfortable. It could only be a featherbed.

Then, it smelled nice. Washed linen, the smokey scent of a hearth, and something floral, like a woman's perfume.

Beyond this, there was also the fact that he felt soft, gentle hands on his arm. Curious about what any of that might mean, Aegon opened his eyes, looking up at a canopy.

Whoever was tending to his arm stopped, though the hands lingered. It still hurt quite a lot, but he slowly turned his head, finding to his surprise that he saw a young lady – dark hair, lilac eyes, direwolf brooch on her white gown. Exceedingly comely. “Alarra?”

She smiled softly. “Your Grace. I am glad you woke.”

 _What?_ , he thought, and then he remembered. “Oh”, Aegon said. “Yes. Ironwood Hall.”

“Indeed.” She returned to her task, which consisted of dabbing something onto his arm. Most of it was bruised or cut. “I assume you do not remember this: a few woodsmen brought you in on a cart, apparently believing that you were some sort of cousin of mine. They were quite astonished when they heard the truth. My mother gave them a bag of coin, of course.”

“Of course”, he echoed. This – well. It was certainly a vast improvement. “How long ago?”

The dabbing apparently done, she began to smear a salve on him, careful not to press down too hard. “Only a few hours.” He returned to look at the canopy (silver-grey brocade) and felt Alarra's eyes on him. “What happened?”, she asked. “First, we hear you were captured at Pyke, and the whole realm is in a state of panic. Then suddenly, a few of our men cart you right through this gate. They said you were the sole survivor of a shipwreck, and...” She stopped.

Aegon looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. Did he even still _have_ eyebrows? Had they burned off? And if so, when even had that been? “And what?”

Alarra shifted aside so he could see Blackfyre on a table. “They said you slew all the others.”

First, he wanted to grin triumphantly. Then, he remembered Tōma. “I did”, he still said, thinking it probably was something to boast about, even if had clearly only happened because someone (probably Rhae) had committed some rather enormous act of sorcery. “A shame no one saw – it was the stuff of songs.”

“The woodsmen were deeply impressed, at any rate. Edric and my lady mother have gone to see the ship.”

But where was... oh, yes, he remembered. Her father was replacing Jae at the Wall – presuming his brother hadn't yet returned there. “Do you have any idea as to my family's whereabouts? And for how _long_ I was imprisoned? I have lost any sense of time.”

A knock sounded. Alarra didn't call for the person to enter, but stood and went to the door herself, then quickly shut it as soon as she'd received a steaming wooden bowl. Aegon was confused by this at first, and then remembered that she likely wasn't supposed to be alone with him (nor any man).

The bowl's contents smelled good. “Broth”, she announced, setting it down by the nightstand. “The maester says you have been starved, and that you should begin with this.”

It really was quite appealing. “Should it not be the maester tending to me?”, he asked.

She sat back down, giving him a smile. “Perhaps. Now, to your questions – I wish I knew. We are far up north here, sweet prince; anything that happens only reaches us with some delay. I can only assume that your family will be here soon, as we have obviously sent ravens.” She went back to spreading the salve on his arm. “The only thing I can tell you is that the battle was just over a fortnight ago. I presume you know the outcome – Lady Greyjoy rules the Iron Islands.”

He'd guessed that much, seeing as a victorious Euron wouldn't have spent weeks at sea with nothing but three ships. “Which day is today?”, he asked.

“The seventh day of the tenth moon.” When Aegon's eyes went wide, she inclined her head in question.

“It is my wife's name day.” In normal times, they'd be celebrating with a large feast in the Red Keep – but at least, the day bore good news for her. “What else?”, he asked. “I would wager that Viserys has been on the Iron Islands all this time, searching for me?” He could imagine that his uncle would be miffed at not being able to claim the credit for his rescue.

Alarra froze. “Oh”, she said. “You do not know.”

Oh, gods. From the way she'd said it, he already understood. “What happened?”, he asked anyway.

She laid both hands on his arm for comfort. “Prince Viserys fell during the battle. I heard that he was slain by Victarion Greyjoy, and that Dany and the king avenged him viciously.”

He couldn't muster much more than a numb acceptance of the fact. So Viserys was gone – how strange. Tragic, likely. Aegon hoped he'd find the strength to mourn him later.

“Anything else?”, he asked. “Are there any other highly important deaths you are aware of?”

She didn't remove her hands. “Lord Arryn. Mother received a raven that told us his heart gave out. I do not know any more than that.”

While Alarra didn't, Aegon could guess. His family had long considered getting rid of the Hand, though he'd thought that his father would opt to wait for nature to take its course.

“That is sad”, he said, not trying overly hard to sound convincing. “Though he truly was quite old.”

She nodded, carefully handing him the bowl. Aegon held it and found himself enjoying the warmth.

Something came to his mind. “Tell me the truth, my lady: How do I look?”

Alarra stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed. “What do you want to hear?” She tucked her hair back behind one ear. “As I have been lucky enough to see you often over the years, I must honestly say that you have looked better. But do not fret – you are still the most comely man in this realm.”

He wasn't concerned about his attractiveness; more curious. “Do you happen to have a mirror?”

She rose with a light little shrug. Seeing her stand, Aegon thought that he hadn't seen Alarra wearing thick wool and fur since they'd been children on a visit to Winterfell. It was easy to forget she was northern.

“It is not too bad”, she claimed, handing him a small Myrish mirror on an iron frame.

The prince blinked at his reflection. He looked haggard and tired, there were patches of silver stubble that stuck out against his skin, half of one eyebrow was gone along with his lashes, and where he'd once had shoulder-length hair, there were only irregular tuffs. “I beg to differ.”

Alarra patted his half-bald head. “This is only a matter of weeks, sweet prince. Food and sleep will do you good, and hair grows back.” She took the mirror out of his hands. “You should have some of that broth before it cools.”

That was true. “You know, my lady, I appreciate your company and attention, but I do wonder why you are tending to me instead of a maester.”

She sighed quite dramatically, sitting down next to him on the bed. “This is Ironwood Hall, Aegon. I am _bored_.” Alarra cocked her head. “Do you have any thrilling tales of your captivity or escape?”

He thought back. Darkness, mouldy bread, beatings, shade of the evening. Hunger and pain, Euron's black eye, the gash in Tōma's throat.

“I am afraid I must disappoint.” Then he finally had a sip of the broth, and it tasted so good he could've cried.


	28. Three Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general remark: I really, really hate titles, and somewhat hate myself for having started to use chapter titles for this story in the first place. There's a chance they might change.

**Part IV: Dusk**

_Ironwood Hall, the 10 th moon of the year 299 AC_

_Daenerys_

Nestled deep into the wolfswood, much of the castle was built out of the eponymous material. Black wood and grey stone – Ironwood Hall wasn't a particularly large place, and much too young to impress. On the other hand, its defences looked formidable enough; incorporating the newest advances in construction.

Dany and Ser Jaime were welcomed by Lady Ashara herself, then shown to the keep. Unlike Winterfell, Ironwood Hall didn't have a building dedicated solely to housing guests.

Aegon was in what she assumed to be the most splendid guest chambers, bent over a dark wooden desk by a hearth. He rose as they entered – she didn't miss that he winced as he did so, but he smiled as well.

Dany rushed to embrace him. He looked older, with barely any hair on his head and a new gauntness to his features. Wearing only breeches and a tunic, she could see blue and green bruises on him, not to speak of the cuts.

She thought it best not to point this out immediately. He wouldn't need to be told.

“You arrived quickly”, Aegon commented with his arms around her.

“We were on the Iron Islands.” She let go and let him briefly greet Ser Jaime before the knight was asked to stand outside, and noted that his hands were stained with ink, the desk littered with parchments. “Are you writing about your captivity?”

“Of course.” Aegon lifted up a parchment and gently blew on the wet ink. “To put his deeds in writing was the best idea the first Daeron ever had.” Then his eyes flicked to her. “Sit down and tell me what I have missed. I know my own story already, and I did not enjoy it.”

Dany wanted nothing more than to know what he'd been through, but if he needed time to speak about it, she would wait. At least, he didn't seem grievously injured.

So she gave him a short account of all she knew: Viserys' death (of which he'd already been made aware), their return to the Red Keep, Jon Arryn – “Oh gods”, Aegon sighed when she'd explained how the Hand had met his end. “I can just imagine. And the king and queens will have to act all shocked and pretend that they are not relieved to be rid of him.” He took another parchment, beginning to write. _“My dear aunt, the Princess Daenerys, was devastated when she told me that Lord Arryn's heart had given out at the age of eighty_ – no, not ‘devastated’. ‘Saddened’ should suffice.”

“I believe so.” Dany went on, explaining what she'd done on the Iron Islands. “Lord Connington is still there”, she said. “I am unsure as to whether Rhaegar will want for him to return to the Red Keep, or whether we are all moving north for the time being. I was just writing a message confirming that Ser Harras Harlaw has accepted the position of master of ships when Lady Stark's raven arrived, so naturally, I wasted no time before coming here.”

“I see.” Aegon flicked the quill in his fingers. “This means Rhae and the others in the Red Keep haven't received the raven yet, though they might know anyway, if they used the glass candle. She will not be here before tomorrow, and that is only if she found out that I am here as soon as I arrived. Where is Jae?”

Good question. “Somewhere in the Riverlands, most likely, or maybe the Neck. He was sent to find Lyanna. I am surprised he did not arrive before-”

She stopped when they both heard a familiar voice from outside. “Oh, well. Here he is”, Dany said.

None of them were particularly skilled at using the glass candle Dany had brought with her, but eventually managed to contact Marwyn in his study. This confirmed that everyone down south was already aware of Aegon's whereabouts, and that many of them were on their way north.

“How did you even find out?”, Aegon asked Jae while Dany stowed away the glass candle. “I thought no raven could reach Greywater Watch.”

She hadn't been surprised when she'd learned he'd gone to see the crannogmen. “A vision from our mutual friend. Bloodraven said he spoke to you while you were on the _Silence._ ”

At that, Aegon let out a long breath. “Thank the gods. I thought there was a chance of me going mad and imagining it all.”

She caught Jae's eye. They still hadn't spoken of what Aegon had experienced. “What was it like?”, her betrothed asked.

Aegon, sitting at that desk once more, looked pensive. “I am not sure as to how to answer that. Bad, obviously – but how bad? Do either of you happen to know what exactly Lord Darklyn did to King Aerys?”

Dany thought back to what they'd been taught. “He was tortured, but I know no more than that.” She pulled up a chair to sit across from him.

“I suppose I _was_ tortured”, he said, stroking his chin with the quill. “I wonder into how much detail I should go in this telling. Would I look weak if one could read of these things happening to me, or strong because I endured them?”

Jae leaned against the desk by his side. “I hope you know that is not the primary concern.”

“Is it not?” Dany looked him over, all dark rings under his eyes and obvious if shallow injuries across his body, and wondered if she truly wanted to know (the answer was yes, of course). “I will be king. How I am perceived is paramount to the future and stability of this realm.” Before Jae could disagree, Aegon waved him off. “I _know._ I appreciate that the two of you care for me, but would much rather focus on practical concerns until Rhae is here.”

From what Marwyn had told them, this would most likely take no longer than another day. “Fine”, Dany said. “You do not need to tell us anything you do not wish to speak of. But which practical concerns _are_ these, considering where we are? Do you feel a strong need to impress the few dozen denizens of Ironwood Hall?”

Aegon smirked. “I did consider bedding Alarra – oh, do _not_ glare at me like that; I was jesting.” He was looking up at Jae. “I know this would be Margaery all over again, but more complicated since the Starks would be giving you most of the grief, dear brother.”

Jae blinked at him, then snorted. “You _have_ put some thought into it, then. Nevertheless, I am relieved to see you still think of nothing but politics and coupling.”

“What else is there?” He put down the quill. “I should like to visit those woodsmen who found me in order to thank them – it would look good.”

And so they did just that the next day, riding out with Ser Jaime, Alarra, and her younger brother Edric; the future Lord of Ironwood Hall. It was only a small village that didn't even have an inn, though the blacksmith's house was the largest and doubled as a meeting place for its inhabitants.

“See?”, one of the men who'd found Aegon asked at the assembly of everyone in the village, sitting on benches outside the forge, “you lot wouldn't believe us! But me and Rod and Karl, we saw that shipwreck and thought some ironborn fuckers hit the rocks in the storm – good riddance. We get closer to have a look and think they're all dead, but most didn't drown; they were cut open! And then Karl says one of them's alive – and who is it? Our Prince of Dragonstone!” He pointed at Aegon. “Killed them all by his own hand, every single one. We didn't know who he was then, but then her ladyship told us once we'd got him to Ironwood.” A serving maid handed Dany a tankard of thick, dark ale. “Gods, Your Grace”, the man continued, “we all would've liked to see that. One man against dozens, and you're the only one left standing.”

Aegon bowed his head. “The gods old and new were on my side, goodman. I must thank you for bringing me to your lady.” He raised his tankard. “So let us drink and be merry – harder trials are coming.”

The people of the village seemed to mostly ignore that second part, though Dany couldn't, and one look at Jae told her was thinking the same. While Aegon, Alarra, and Edric entertained the smallfolk, he sat down next to her. “Lord Reed told me I needed to be at the Wall”, he said. “That I have been distracted for too long.”

That sounded ominous. “You hardly had a choice”, Dany pointed out. “And we are close enough already.” Though the ale was warming her, she felt a chill, and pulled the fur coat Alarra had given her closer. “How long, do you think? Until the Others come.”

“I wish I knew.” A few of the smallfolk had broken out into song and some drummed on the benches for a beat. “Not long – whatever that means. But I have thought about it and I think there might be a reason that Aegon was washed up on a northern shore.”

Several people rose to form a circle, young Edric among them. “Well, to a large extent, it is because Euron sailed north”, Dany said. “Most of the royal fleet was south. I know what you mean, however: that it brought us all here. Rhae is coming, and your mother was on her way already.”

The circle began a northern dance, cheers erupting when Edric and the blacksmith's daughter entered the middle. “Perhaps it should be everyone.” Jae rolled his eyes as they watched Aegon take Alarra's hand and lead her towards the circle. “He better be careful”, he muttered as an aside. “What I mean is – my father, Elia, the small council, and the armies. It will take long until they are all here, and the time when they are needed might be approaching.”

Dany grabbed his hand, both of them wearing gloves. She didn't _want_ any more fighting. “You could be right. So then -” She rose and pulled him up, “let us be merry, as Aegon said. We do not know how many more opportunities we will have.”

They didn't get to dance, however, because a loud roar from above interrupted the song. All stared up to a golden shadow in the sky, and she saw Aegon beam. “Well”, he said quickly, “it was wonderful to spend time with all of you, but you must forgive us leaving in a hurry. My wife is here.”

_Rhaenys_

His head was in her lap and she traced his features as gently as she could – the scab on his skull, the burned-off eyebrow, the freshly-shaved cheeks. He'd just told her everything.

“Euron is a warg, is he not?”, Aegon asked, half his face lying on her leather-clad thighs.

Rhaenys ran a finger over his cheekbone. “That is what Bloodraven told Jae.”

“Can he warg into a man?” He rolled so he was fully on his back.

This was about Euron's son, she knew. “Perhaps. The Starks would know more about this.”

Aegon hummed. “He was not himself when I killed him, of that I am sure. I do not know if that makes it better or worse.”

“You had no choice – and proved Euron wrong once more.” She didn't know enough about wargs to be certain, and yet couldn't imagine any explanation but that the Crow's Eye had possessed this Tōma, believing that Aegon wouldn't be able to kill him. “Do you know what happened to his body?”

“Tōma's? No.” He looked at her with a frown. “Why?”

Rhaenys supposed that Lady Ashara would know. “He was Euron's son; his blood. If we had anything of his, such as a few hairs perhaps, that might come in useful.”

He looked horrified for a heartbeat, but that abated quickly. “I suppose so. In fact”, he hesitated, “let us find out. I quite like the idea that Euron's last attempt to hurt me might end badly for him.”

So did she. “You must have frustrated him so much. He tried to humiliate and torture you in all these ways, and never quite got through.”

Aegon stared up at the canopy. “He would have, eventually. It was only because of what all of you did.” Then he wrinkled his brow. “Do you _know_ what Dany and Jae did? She had a mass drowning held on the Iron Islands, and he enlisted Lord Reed.”

Rhaenys had not known that. “Interesting. I burned Viserys' daughter's body.”

He stared at her. “What?”

Well, he couldn't have been aware, so she recounted what had happened. “Mother and Father helped, this time. I did not think that they would have appreciated being left out – not after Arryn.”

“Ah, yes. I heard.” He caught her braid in his hand. “They probably do not mind quite as much as they pretend, you know. Arryn had to go, and better now than when we face the Others. Lord Connington will not question Father.”

“Certainly not.” Gods, it was good to have Aegon back. “They are coming here. Both wanted to fly north with me as soon as they'd heard, but ultimately decided to use the kingsroad instead so they can speak to the vassals on the way.” Instead, she'd brought Ser Arthur. “It appears we will all be spending some time north of the Neck.”

Aegon hummed. “I do not enjoy the cold, but it might make sense. I saw something when Euron gave me shade of the evening – I think the Others are coming sooner rather than later. I also believe that you will kill him.”

“Good. I want to.” Rhaenys leaned back against the headboard. “Alternatively, we could never leave this room. Why should I ever let you go again?”

He smiled and held his thumb against her lips so she could kiss it. “I have no particular wish to leave either. Dany and Jae can wait a little longer to hear you tell them of King's Landing – let us stay, for now.”

Rhaenys leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Something occurred to me. When we all thought you might not come out of this alive, there was much talk of me marrying Jae, of course.”

“Well, naturally. That has always been clear. Besides, he is the only other man worthy of you.”

He was also the only other man she could ever bear being wed to. “But it made me think: What would have happened had I been with child? If you and I had a son, he would have been the Prince of Dragonstone after you. Things might have been easier then.”

“I suppose so.” Aegon rolled back onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Only a son, however. A girl might have further complicated matters, and if you were with child now when the war for the dawn may be approaching...” His eyes glid over her. “On the other hand, I quite like the idea. You would be fearsome as a mother.”

She had to grin. “And you unbearable as a father. If we consider how difficult it can be to argue with our king, and how you are even worse – gods above, our babes will be the most spoiled and argumentative children on earth.”

“They will be the most perfect princess and princesses. And wed Jae and Dany's sons and daughters, of course.” She realised then that it may finally be time for those two to wed. “Yes”, Aegon said after a brief moment, “let us speak to Father about it once he arrives, but continue to use moon tea until then.”

This was something she could live with. Rhaenys found it difficult to imagine motherhood at this point, but had it not been for the rebellion, she likely would already be carrying the next heir.

_Jaehaerys_

Like many northern keeps, Ironwood Hall had been built around an ancient weirwood tree. Its godswood formed a small echo of the forest without and had remained untouched by the construction.

Aegon was with Rhae and Dany with Alarra, but he needed a moment to speak to the gods. Finally, he was north again; could feel their presence in the air as he made his way to the heart tree.

This face was grave, but not angry. Jaehaerys knelt, gave blood, closed his eyes, and pressed his hands to the trunk.

 _Jae!_ , he heard, much to his surprise. This wasn't Bloodraven nor the gods, but a much younger voice. _Jae, I can see you!_

“Bran?”, he asked out loud. “Is that you?”

_Yes! I can see you; you're at Ironwood! I saw Edric and Alarra earlier, and Torrhen in Winterfell!_

He asked the next question in his mind. _Can you hear my thoughts?_

_I can hear everything! I hear and I see all. The three-eyed crow said I will be the greenseer after him. And Jojen and Meera told me I will be able to do even more than their lord father!_

By the gods, Jaehaerys thought, he was too young for this. Of course, Bran heard that as well. _I'm not_ , he insisted. _I'm almost a man grown!_

 _You are nine_ , the prince replied.

He thought he could feel Bloodraven in the background. _The Others won't wait till I'm older_ , Bran replied.

That, regrettably, was true. _But why are you needed?_

In response, Bran emitted confusion. _The three-eyed crow says I have the gift. There was another before me, but he was... wrong._

Well, quite. _If you will be the greenseer, then tell me: What_ do _you see? What must we do? How much time is there?_

He saw flashes, then – of dead men advancing through the snow, of a hundred-thousand living waiting by the Wall, armies disembarking on two coasts. _The greenseer says you must rally_ , Bran told him. _Bring in the wildlings, speak to the lords. It is time to prepare._

As he'd told Dany: There was a reason they'd all come north just now. _We will_ , Jaehaerys promised. _I will return to the Wall, finally. I hope it is not too late_.

 _Hurry_ , Bran said, a sense of urgency behind the thought. _Else they all perish._

He did not sound like a little boy then – but the vision he showed him was terrible enough to make Jaehaerys feel like one: One hundred-thousand new wights in a camp by the Wall, and Mance Rayder with those horrifying blue eyes.

He cursed and made to stand. It _really_ was time for him to take care of what truly mattered.


	29. Succession

_Winterfell, the 11 th moon of the year 299 AC_

_Aegon_

His mother and father rode in side by side. He'd never seen them wear nearly this many layers of fur, but gods above, it was cold outside the castle.

The seven points of the king's crown were covered in frost, though Aegon was sure that he'd only put it on right before reaching the gates. He noticed this when, before greeting anyone else, he came to him and pulled him close.

He couldn't remember the last time this had happened, but felt no need to complain. “What happened to your _hair_?”

Aegon nearly laughed at this being the first question. “The Crow's Eye felt I was in need of a trim.” He'd been free for a moon now, and it had grown enough to remove all the irregularities. “Perhaps I should keep it short.”

Rhae disagreed with that, he knew. “What do you think, my love?”, the king asked, but his mother only impatiently pried Aegon away and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead.

“What do I care of hair?”, she asked. “My son lives and is in good health. He may wear his hair however he likes.”

He might've been embarrassed at being doted on by his parents in front of all of House Stark of Winterfell, but then again, Lyanna had done the same when they'd met her here a few days after arriving at Ironwood Hall.

While his parents greeted all the others, Aegon glanced at the rest of the arrivals. There was Ser Barristan with Loras just behind him, meaning that all six uninjured knights of the Kingsguard were with them, as Lyanna had brought the new additions. Archmaester Marwyn had come on horseback, too, though he suspected that the royal wheelhouse had served as his mother's mode of transport until they were in sight of Winterfell.

As it turned out, it wasn't as empty as he'd thought. The priestess Melisandre had evidently been inside, climbing out in her usual red attire – and without any warming clothes at all, which didn't seem to bother her.

How interesting that they'd bring those two along.

“Your Grace.” Loras had appeared before him, and bowed.

Aegon couldn't help but smirk at the formality. It was good to see him again. “Ser.”

“We must speak once you have time. I owe you a great apology.”

Loras looked serious. The prince cast a look around: His parents were still greeting their entire family _and_ the numerous Starks; the courtyard filled with the highborn and those direwolves of theirs. “Once I have time”, he agreed. “Though truly, you owe me nothing.”

Apparently, they were having this conversation now. “Oh, I do. I failed you.” Shaking his head, Loras came a step closer and lowered his voice. “I was too busy running after Renly -”

“Enough.” Rhae had told him all about the way his old friend felt. “There was nothing you could have done. I had Ser Adrian.” Who hadn't been terribly useful, but that wasn't something he could be blamed for.

 _Besides_ , he almost said, _you love Ser Renly, and of course you would seek to protect him_. But Aegon didn't say this – firstly, because it wasn't something he should be speaking of with so many around them, and secondly, because it wouldn't have been the right thing to say.

Loras hadn't sworn to give his life for Renly Baratheon's, after all. Perhaps he had in his heart, but it wasn't his duty.

“And now, Ser Adrian might never be able to use his sword arm again”, the knight said. With everyone else still busy with their greetings, they weren't attracting anyone's attention – save Dany's, whose eyes Aegon caught briefly.

He was tired of this. “What would you like me to say?”, he asked. “You neglected your duty, ser – is that it? If it torments you so, then be by my side when the next battle comes. We all must learn from our mistakes.”

Loras stepped back with a curt nod. He looked slightly hurt, but maybe it _had_ been what he'd wanted to hear.

Lyanna, all bright smiles at being united with most of her relatives for once, came over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We will convene in your father's guest chambers”, she whispered, having to stand on her toes to reach his ear. “Now. He wishes to discuss matters without my brother at first.”

He was beginning to grow sick of telling the details of his captivity, but this should be the last time. Aegon left nothing out at all; from the moment Rhae had had to fly off at Pyke to when he woke up in Ironwood Hall.

After, both his parents' stoney expressions told him just how affected they were. “I have never”, his father said, “sympathised with my sire's tendency to burn men alive quite this much.”

“Incidentally, that _was_ Euron's plan for me.” His mother had taken his hand and didn't seem inclined to let go, so he let her. “We do not know where he is now. Perhaps the ship he was on sunk in the storm.”

Not that he believed that. “We have his son's hair”, Rhae added. “I have not yet been able to use it, but between Marwyn and Melisandre, it should be easy enough to accomplish.”

The king looked surprised. “You had the clarity of mind to take some of his hair after you killed him?”

“Not quite, but never mind that.” It hadn't been hard to get to Tōma's body. Ashara had told him where the men from the ship had been buried on a mass grave by the shore, assuming he only wanted to know in order to gain closure. Then, the four of them had flown across on Dāero at night, and dug.

He didn't like to remember the rest. There'd been many dead and even the cold of the late northern autumn hadn't been able to keep the smell at bay. After they'd found him and cut his hair, however, they'd buried Tōma in a new spot – he'd deserved better than to share a grave with Euron's men.

“Perhaps Melisandre can help you”, Lyanna said, “but I must stress that she has to be careful. I once heard her say that weirwoods bear the faces of the Great Other, and I can tell you that this is not something she should repeat within the halls of Winterfell.”

That would, indeed, seem unwise. “Worry not”, his mother replied, “I have had word with her on the way. It was a rather tedious conversation, but I believe that we came to an understanding.” She made an all-encompassing gesture with the hand not grasping Aegon's. “How have things been up here?”

“Uneventful, for the most part.” These rooms weren't meant for such meetings, and Dany was sitting on the armrest of Lyanna's chair. She briefly recounted the rest: How they'd gotten word of Lyanna's imminent arrival not long after coming together at Ironwood Hall, undertaken the very short flight to Winterfell, and spent the majority of the moon that had passed since then waiting.

Well, not entirely: “The Wall?”, the king simply asked.

This was Jae's responsibility. “Well.” He stood next to Dany. “The good news is that the few free folk at Castle Black have not been murdered in my absence. Unfortunately, that about covers it in terms of positives – the majority of Mance Rayder's army has reached the Wall by now, but remains on the wrong side, and have encountered the Others too many times on their way south. They were not pleased that I had been gone for so long, either.”

“It was hardly your fault”, Aegon's mother pointed out.

From what he'd heard so far, however, most of the free folk had been aghast that there would be any sort of war fought in the south. Upon reflection, Aegon didn't think that entirely unjustified.

“Be that as it may.” Jae looked at their father. “I believe the only way to solve this is that you speak to Mance Rayder. King to king, as he would put it.”

“I take it he is aware that I mean to end his kingship.”

Jae shrugged. “I have told him more than once, and believe that he understands this. Whether all of his people do is another question altogether.”

“We might as well journey to the Wall, I suppose”, the true king said. “We have come most of the way already. But while we are at Winterfell, another thing must be done.” He raised his eyebrows and looked back and forth between Dany and Jae.

Lyanna smiled up at Dany. “You must finally become my daughter by law, and I believe Brandon would be very receptive to hosting the occasion.”

The prospect of another wedding quickly lightened the mood across the room. “What do you say, dear aunt?”, Jae asked. “Shall we be wed before a heart tree?”

“Yes. It is what you want.” She took his arm and tucked at the slashes in his sleeves, which Aegon appreciated. They were uneven, and it had been bothering him the whole time. “We could be married according to the rites of Norvos for all I care.”

“Excellent.” His mother let go of him to excitedly clasp her hands together. “We must speak to the Lady Catelyn, then. I am also very interested in who the Starks are planning to wed to their own children.”

“Surely”, Aegon said, “it must be either Torrhen and Alarra or Edric and Sansa. Beyond that, I would expect many a betrothal to their bannermen, after the last generation's southern marriages.”

Dany nodded. “I know that Alarra hopes it will be Torrhen, as, and I quote, ‘all other northern boys are drunken brutes’.”

One queen chuckled, the other sighed. “Ned's children have spent too much time in the south.”

“Oh, because you would have _loved_ to be wed to a northman”, his mother replied. “I struggle to imagine you ending up as the Lady Glover.”

Lyanna did look disturbed at that thought, while Jae ran a hand over his face. “Creg would be devastated if Torrhen and Alarra were to wed.”

“I am afraid that will not factor into their fathers' considerations.” The king frowned. “There will be an excessive amount of weddings and betrothals to keep track of in the coming moons – we should have expected this immediately after your marriages had been decided upon, but of course, half the young knights and squires of the realm were then caught up in other matters. Did you know that Edmure Tully is to wed Jeyne Darry soon? We only heard while passing through the Riverlands.”

Aegon had known that. “Lady Stark told us. Now,“ he looked to Rhae, “while we are on the subject of family...”

She came to the point immediately. “It is time for us to have a child. Especially if Jae and Dany are to wed now, as having an heir by Aegon would solve any issues of succession, no matter what happens.”

The king and both queens all looked equally conflicted at that. “That is true”, their father said, “and yet – we do not know when there will be more fighting. You certainly will _not_ be fighting while pregnant, and that would mean doing without Vēzos.”

Rhae crossed her arms. “Against the Others? Of course I would. Considering the nature of the threat, losing that war would mean certain death for all of us either way.”

“Even still”, their mother cut in, “there is childbirth to contend with. It is just as dangerous as battle. Lyanna and I will be happy to supply you with much detail.”

Aegon had read enough to know this wasn't something he wanted her to suffer through, but that didn't change the fact that: “This will happen eventually. And as the rebellion has shown, I am much more vulnerable than any of the others without a dragon, and much more likely to die – I doubt the Others would take me captive. The sooner I have a son, the sooner we can stop worrying about succession.”

“Exactly”, Rhae said. “I know you all worry for me, but both Dany and I will need to go through this sooner or later. Besides, you all _want_ a grandchild; admit it.”

The king sighed. “I do not like it, but you are right. Fine, then – no more moon tea.” Then he looked towards Dany and Jae. “This does not count for you, of course, even after you are wed. If we wish to avoid any complications of succession, then the last thing we want is for you to have a son before Rhaenys and Aegon.”

Neither of them seemed to have an issue with that. “There is something else, of course”, his mother said then, and looked at him. “Tomorrow is your name day.”

Ah, yes. “Well, under normal circumstances”, he said, “this would have called for a feast in Rhae's gardens.”

Lyanna was still smiling. “Unfortunately, it will not quite be that, but I have told Brandon weeks ago. There will simply need to be a northern feast instead.”

_Daenerys_

“Oh, I cannot _wait_ for your wedding, Your Grace!” Sansa was beaming. “And it is such an honour that you would hold it here.”

They were in Lady Stark's rooms, where the young ladies of Winterfell were busy sewing. “Your cousin has always wished to be wed before a weirwood”, Dany explained. “Can you imagine him in a sept?”

“Sept weddings are boring”, little Arya cut in, leading to tutting from her septa. She was making a mess of her embroidery.

“It is quite alright”, Rhae said before the septa could open her mouth. Neither of them were doing any sewing, but occupied their hands with steaming cups of herbal tea. “My wedding ceremony was, indeed, very long.”

Sansa sighed wistfully. “It was beautiful, dear princess. I can only wish that I will one day wed a brave and handsome southern knight in a sept -”

She was cut off by Arya's groaning. “Young lady!”, the septa chided.

Dany suppressed a snigger. “You do not wish to wed a northerner, Lady Sansa?”

“Southron men have much better manners”, the girl explained. “I saw this in King's Landing, and Cousin Alarra says the same.”

She could see that Rhae, too, felt like laughing. “The Lady Alarra wishes to either wed your bother or a Dornishman.”

“Well, I don't want to marry at all”, Arya declared, prompting another annoyed look from the septa. “A husband would only tell me what to do.”

She wasn't wrong, for the most part. “Perhaps _you_ should wed a Dornishman then”, Dany suggested, though she was quite certain that this would not happen.

Arya still appeared very unconvinced by the idea. “As the only married woman present”, Rhae said, “I can tell all of you that it is not half bad, as long as one has the right husband. I am sure your lord father will make the best decision.”

“Aunt Lyanna was supposed to marry someone else”, Arya pointed out. “We all heard the story _so many_ times.”

Sansa's eyes were shining. “And I could hear it a thousand times more! Our valiant king challenging Lord Robert for her hand – I could only dream of a love so great.”

Gods above. “He didn't do it for love, stupid”, Arya said, and the septa snapped.

“My lady!” She stood up. “You have done enough to embarrass yourself in front of Their Graces -”

Arya let go of her sewing for good. “But I'm right!”, she said. “He did it because of the prince that was promised. I know he loves her now, but it wasn't the point.”

That was true, yet Dany didn't think that the septa cared much about that part. “To your rooms, young lady.”

As Arya threw her things to the floor and ran out, Sansa looked both furious and mortified. “Please forgive my sister, Your Graces.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Dany wished she hadn't seen this because Sansa was clearly uncomfortable, and put on her gentlest smile. “Does Lady Arya not remind you of anyone, dear niece?”

Rhae's smile was closer to a grin. “When he was her age, Jaehaerys had a phase of refusing to set foot into any sept, and would find it unbearable to attend court for more than half an hour.”

“Well, even so.” The septa appeared profoundly unhappy. “This sort of behaviour is to be expected from a young boy, but a lady? I will have her apologise.”

Dany's smile felt more strained, now. It wasn't appropriate for her to speak ill of her charge in front of them. “No such apology will be necessary, I assure you”, she said, and rose. “Now, you must both excuse us. I should quite like to be part of the preparations for my own wedding.”

Instead of going straight to the queens and Lady Stark, they walked through Winterfell for a while, ultimately arriving on one of its many covered bridges and watching how Jae, Aegon, and Torrhen Stark sparred in a courtyard. “Children”, Dany said with a sigh. “Are you sure you want one?”

“With him?” Rhae nodded towards Aegon, who looked to be toying with Torrhen. “Quite. I am sure they will be insufferable brats, but as long as they are _our_ insufferable brats, they will be the dearest thing on earth to me.”

“I can just imagine.” Jae was on the sidelines, shouting advice to Torrhen. “Are they _training_ him?”, she asked. Torrhen was barely any younger.

Rhae chuckled. “Yes. Just look at Ser Arthur – he could not be more proud.”

That was true. They'd all learned under him and the rest of the Kingsguard (many of whom were now dead, she remembered with a pang of sadness), and if etiquette had permitted it, she wouldn't have minded joining.

After they silently watched for a moment, Rhae asked: “Are you looking forward to your wedding?”

It was a good question. “I suppose so.” Below, Aegon disarmed Torrhen. “Truth be told, it hardly makes a difference. We already share each other's bed and no one else's, and as we are not meant to have a child for a while, it matters even less. Whether we wed on the morrow or in a year amounts to the same.”

“You may be right. Oh, look.” On another bridge on the other side of the courtyard, Lyanna had appeared, holding Arya's hand and pointing down towards the men. “It appears she did _not_ go to her rooms.”

“I am not surprised.” Arya was very obviously Lyanna's favourite niece.

Rhae looked thoughtful. “I know what you mean – about the actual wedding not mattering too much, that is. It was different for us because it happened so quickly after the betrothals were announced. Yet, I did enjoy swearing our love before gods and men.”

“Love”, she repeated, looking down at her betrothed. It was him against Aegon now, though which of the brothers would emerge victorious was impossible to tell. “Is it love? Of course we _do_ love each other”, she added when she saw Rhae's expression, “and there is enough desire between us to heat the Dragonmont. Yet, I feel like we have been too busy for the sort of love that you and Aegon share, if that makes any sense.”

In the courtyard, Aegon was driving his brother back, and Rhaenys clicked her tongue. “Look, Jae is still afraid of hurting him. But, well – if you love and desire him, that does sound quite good. There have been far worse matches. Besides, neither of you is the type for grand gestures.”

That did make her smile. “Yes, I suppose that if he spoke of me the way Aegon speaks of you, I would ask him to go see a maester.” Dany wasn't entirely sure what she'd been trying to express, and so she simply leaned on the balustrade and watched.

Aegon and Jae sparred for a long time, and next to her and Rhae, there was half the Kingsguard watching, as well as Arya and Lyanna. It was a strange sort of fight because of their obvious reluctance to hit each other, which wasn't exactly conductive to resolving the matter.

She focused on her soon-to-be husband. He moved with his usual strength and grace – yes, desire certainly was _not_ the issue, and watching him fight made Dany resolve to visit him when he'd go to bathe after. Aegon might have possessed all the Valyrian beauty of their House, but gods above, it was Jae whose touch she longed for.

She could only sigh. “What even _is_ love, truly?”, she asked.

“Seven hells, Dany.” Rhae didn't sound impressed. “Ask Aegon; I am sure he could refer you to several dense tomes discussing the subject.”

After coming close once more, both brothers stepped back. Next, they lowered their swords before bursting out into exhausted laughter.

That made her smile. Then, Jae's eyes travelled up and found hers. He winked, waved, and said something to Aegon that made him laugh even more, then bowed like a mummer after a play.

Despite herself, she had to giggle. That gesture had been uncharacteristically galant, and sweet.

Just a bit startled, Dany went back to that thought and found that she liked it – perhaps she wouldn't need those tomes after all.


	30. They Who Were Promised II

_The next day_

_Jaehaerys_

“Eight-and-ten”, he said as he sat down by his brother's side. “Do you feel older?”

Aegon shrugged. “Hardly. After the six-and-tenth, namedays lose all meaning.”

It was a small-scale feast in Winterfell's Great Hall. They'd finished eating by now, the children were being brought to bed, and those sitting on the benches below as well as Uncle Brandon had broken out in rowdy song. “You will certainly feel different once you are a father.”

“I suppose so.” They both looked towards Dany and Rhae, who were speaking to many of the younger women present. “I would be afraid for Rhae, but then again, I am certain she will find some sorcerous way to mitigate the danger of childbirth.”

Jaehaerys didn't doubt that. “Exactly. We know it is possible, else my mother would be dead – and, who knows, perhaps yours as well. I for one am looking forward to being an uncle.” He raised his cup of ale. “I think we both know your children will see you as boring and me as the one to turn to for mischief and adventure.”

Aegon grinned and brought his cup against Jaehaerys'. “If you wish to believe yourself to be Uncle Oberyn, I will not shatter your illusions. However, be prepared for Father to come to you soon and tell you that once you are wed, you must act more responsibly. At least, that is what he said to me.” The king and queens were speaking to Lady Catelyn, who was ignoring her husband's singing with a serene smile and years of practice. Jaehaerys thought that she was likely just happy that Lady Barbrey wasn't here. “It is nice that we will have a wedding”, his brother went on. “There have not been many joyous occasions lately.”

“No”, he agreed. “And yet, I would be happy to just go to the godswood right now and get it over with. We should not be wasting time nor resources on festivities.”

This made Aegon shake his head. “All the lords of the north are travelling here for the feast, Jae – that is an excellent opportunity to rally and prepare them for what is to come. Besides, we will not gain anything by grimly pressing on without _any_ enjoyment. The mind can only take so much.” Jaehaerys was about to admit that his brother had a point, but he wasn't done: “And what do you mean by ‘getting it over with’? It will be the day for you and Dany to swear your love. Surely, that is a reason to celebrate.”

He looked back to her. All the other women were clearly under her spell as she spoke, though she was most beautiful when she glanced at Rhae and they shared a smile between them. “You know it will change nothing in practical terms; we already live as husband and wife.” Scandalous, perhaps, but Jaehaerys could not find it in him to care if anyone complained of this behind their backs. “I only wish to ask the gods' blessing for our union, though truly, I already know they approve.”

“Well”, Aegon said, “these are the trappings of princehood. Almost everyone in the realm bows to you, and in return, you must put on a spectacle for them once in a while.” He raised his cup again to toast in the direction of Torrhen, who had moved to the tables below to drink with the guardsmen. “Quit complaining. No one is making you wed in a sept.”

Jaehaerys couldn't even argue with that. “Convincing as always, brother mine. Now, I assume the princely thing to do would be to not stay amongst ourselves, but forge bonds with my cousin and his men?”

“See?” Aegon stood. “You know all this; you just like to forget it when it suits you.”

He refilled his cup and followed his brother. Jaehaerys supposed that if it helped to get all northern lords in one place, then he truly couldn't complain about a large wedding.

_A fortnight later_

In fact, he was happier than he would've expected when it actually happened.

He could feel his gods here, as always. Winterfell was a special place and one where he could tell his Stark ancestors were watching from every stone in the walls; every twig and blade of grass. The moon was full and high above them, crows were silently watching in the weirwood's crown and making him want to wave up so he could greet Bloodraven and Bran.

As he'd wanted, his mother and Elia and his siblings were here while they waited. So were his Stark cousins from both branches, much of the northern nobility, and the Kingsguard.

His parents had been wed before a weirwood, too; down in Harrenhal. The gods had wanted them together as they wanted him to be with Dany, else they wouldn't have been born that same stormy night on Dragonstone.

Who could it ever have been if not her? If their union wasn't divinely ordained, then why would they have entered the world together, and why would they have first mounted their dragons at the same time, and why would his heart feel so much lighter whenever she was close?

Why else would he actually gasp as he saw her emerge from between the trees, holding his father's arm? The moonlight made her hair shine brighter than her brilliant white gown. She was covered in all the requisite precious stones and metals and rich embroidery, though Jaehaerys was certain he would've had the same reaction if she'd worn a roughspun bag.

While they stepped around the pond to join him before the weirwood, he had to grin when he saw her try to hide a smile and ultimately fail. She almost looked sheepish, a blush colouring her cheeks – this wasn't something one saw often.

After clearing his throat as discretely as he could, he asked: “Who comes before the gods?”

He thought his father looked happy, too; just like he had when he'd led Rhae into the Great Sept. “Daenerys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed.” It all seemed so superfluous to him, as the gods surely knew why they were here. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and royal, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Just for the shortest moment, he was tempted to point out that the claiming had happened long ago. He could see Dany biting her lip to keep a solemn face, and knew she was thinking the same. Then, he was sure he could hear Aegon's voice in the back of his mind, telling him to please at least look as if he was taking this seriously. And he was! But by the gods, it was also quite funny.

“I, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen. A prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” All levity left him when he looked into Dany's eyes and added: “I claim her.”

Perhaps all of those who'd spoken to him of marriage in the last few weeks had had a point after all. Here he was, stating before all those attending that he wanted her to be _his_. “Who gives her?”

The leaves were rustling as a slight breeze went through the godswood. He knew this well – it wasn't a normal wind, but the presence of the gods themselves. “Rhaegar of House Targaryen. King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men”, the last term intensified the wind, “Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Her brother.”

Jaehaerys couldn't quite put his finger on it, but felt as if something was shifting; pieces falling into place. “Princess Daenerys”, his father asked, “will you take this man?”

Again, she tried to hold back, but then suddenly smiled widely. He couldn't help but copy her.

“I take this man”, Dany said; happily, and the crows cawed as one.

Her small, soft hand felt wonderful in his when they knelt before the tree, touching the bark. And then, the gods greeted him with an onslaught of visions that felt like being hit in the face with the blunt side of an axe:

There were the First Men and the children, forging their pact on the Isle of Faces. Pale-haired shepherds on a rugged mountaintop learning to tame dragons. Daenys the Dreamer, Aegon's landing, his parents' own wedding, his grandfather setting the fire that would hatch the eggs lying in their cribs.

This, it was clear, was a reminder: All the millennia before; all the blood and tragedy and triumph of their ancestors, had led to what they would still need to do.

He looked to Dany, realising that this, too, was why they belonged together.

 _We do_ , she answered without speaking. Despite it being late autumn in the North, he suddenly felt warm.

“Truly, though”, Aegon insisted, “I do _not_ understand this, and there are absolutely no writings on it. You took off Dany's Targaryen maiden cloak and gave her a Targaryen wedding cloak – thus, changing nothing. What was the point?”

Jaehaerys threw back his head and groaned. He'd already heard that complaint too often at his siblings' wedding. “If you talk about this one more time, I _will_ punch you.”

Rhae immediately crossed her arms and glared at him. Dany just smiled, and Aegon looked to the king for help as he passed by. “Father! Wedding cloaks if the bride does not change her House. It makes no sense!”

“I know.” He clasped Aegon's shoulders. “It bothers me, too, but we must simply live with it. You will learn to care less as you grow older.” Then he walked on, leaving them at their table.

“You see”, Dany said to Torrhen and Alarra, “this is the sort of pedantry that seems required for a king.”

Their wedding feast had progressed to a general state of drunkenness – they'd already spent hours eating and dancing, the Great Hall was filled with shouts and raucous laughter, and Jaehaerys began to worry that they were drinking up much of the Starks' ale supply.

Further down the hall, he could see Creg; easy to spot as one of the few guests wearing black. His cousin had come down to Winterfell along with their uncle Benjen, but they'd only arrived on this day and Jaehaerys had had no time to speak with him. He stood and meant to do just that, but was intercepted by his mother as he walked past her.

“You are _wed_ ”, she said, not for the first time. She was with Elia, Ashara, and Lady Dacey Mormont. “Can you believe this?”, she asked the other women. “Sometimes, I feel as if he was still a small boy with a wooden sword, and now this.”

The prince exchanged a smile with Elia. “Are you enjoying the ale, Mother?”

“Oh, be quiet.” She waved him off. “I am allowed to be drunk once a year. Besides”, she pointed an accusing finger at Lady Dacey, “it is her fault.”

Dacey just shrugged, pouring herself another cup, and Ashara shook her head. “You should know better”, he heard Elia say while he walked on. “Why would you attempt to keep up with a Mormont?”

Avoiding eye contact with any others so he would not be sucked into conversation, he finally made it to Creg. He was speaking with some of Uncle Brandon's men, but pried himself away when he spotted the prince.

“You know”, Jaehaerys said by way of greeting, “you _are_ allowed to come to the front and sit with us.”

“You sound just like Torrhen.” Creg looked pained. “But, you see – _she_ is there.”

By the gods, all the drink had just made everyone the most ridiculous versions of themselves. “You cannot avoid Alarra for the rest of your life.”

Creg drank deep. “I can try. It works very well at the Wall.”

“Oh, but I agree with His Grace.” Jaehaerys was slightly startled to see Creg's mother appear out of nowhere next to them. It was so loud in the Great Hall that she had to have stood right behind him in order to listen in. “You have every right to sit with the princes and your brother.”

He _had_ known she would be here – Torrhen had mentioned that his own mother was rather unhappy that she would be invited to attend such a prestigious occasion. From the royal side, however, they'd decided to take no offence, which was all the better for Creg.

And so he politely dipped his head. “Lady Barbrey.”

“Good prince. My congratulations.” Though she didn't make it exactly easy to tell, Jaehaerys was quite sure that Barbrey Ryswell liked him, or at least appreciated his friendship with her son. “The entire North is glad that Queen Lyanna's son has wed at Winterfell.”

 _And not in a sept in the Riverlands as Brandon did_ , was the subtext. “So am I”, he said. “It is no secret I follow the old gods.”

“Of course.” She shot a glare at her son. “It was beautiful, was it not? I should have liked to see you marry one day -”

“Mother.” He drank again. “We have spoken of this. And yes, our prince is very lucky to have been able to wed the woman he loves.”

Though Creg hadn't sad this in the happiest of tones, it did make Jaehaerys smile. He _was_ lucky.

Before he could say anything else, the loud thumping of a fist on a table silenced the Great Hall, soon followed by Uncle Brandon's booming voice. “Now”, he declared, “We have feasted long enough. I am sure our king will forgive me for initiating this...”, he glanced at Jaehaerys' father, who nodded with a magnanimous smile. “This union must be consummated. I say: It is time for the bedding!”

Cheers erupted all around, and Jaehaerys resigned himself to his fate. There was no chance of anyone taking too many liberties with Dany, considering who she was and just how many relatives and knights of the Kingsguard were present.

And so he let himself be dragged towards a bedchamber (not in the Guest Keep for once, as that would've meant carrying them naked through the freezing cold), countless ladies tearing at his clothes. In the end, it was Aegon himself who delivered Dany to him, both of them laughing.

It could've been much worse, then. “Now”, Rhae said as she stood over them, “I know most of you would love to stay and watch, but I believe we must give these two some privacy.”

He noted with some satisfaction that many of the guests looked more embarrassed than he was feeling. Dany didn't seem self-conscious in the least either – though why would she be, considering that her naked body was the kind of vision a new faith could grow around?

And so, they all left, and now he could do more than look at Dany. It was good to feel her smile when they kissed.

_The day after_

_Aegon_

He wasn't feeling well.

Then again, nobody was. Where the Great Hall had been filled to the brim with song and laughter the night before, the mood was now much more morose. The only voices they could hear from up on the lord's table were hushed, movements were slow, and the lingering stench of ale threatened to turn his stomach.

But his headache and nausea weren't the only thing Aegon couldn't bear – he also found that he no longer enjoyed silence. “How come”, he asked, “that for all our advances and all the arcane knowledge some of you possess, we must still feel like this after a night of drinking?”

Rhae looked at him over her cup of steaming ginger tea. “There are options”, she said. “All sorts of raw innards, from what I have read. The Jogos Nhai are said to swear by burying themselves in the ground.” That was an impulse Aegon could presently understand. “You could try praying to the Smith. Or sacrifice some sort of animal to the old gods; I am sure Jae would be happy to help.”

Their brother, of course, was one of the only people in the Great Hall who didn't seem miserable. He and Dany had been the last to appear for breakfast, and while they both looked tired, there was a smug air of contentment about them as well. On his other side, the king and queens emitted the usual dignity, although Aegon could see they weren't at their best. Past them, Lord Stark was tucking into some sort of horrific concoction that was likely meant to cure his ailing head.

“Well”, he concluded, noticing out of the corner of his eye that a boy was striding down the Great Hall, “today may not be the best time to give a speech to the lords.”

Rhae shrugged. “Or perhaps it is. They way most of them look, talk of the Others might fit their moods very well.”

He hummed, finally making himself spoon a bite of porridge into his mouth. Aegon usually couldn't stand it, but it was the only thing he thought his stomach would be able to handle. “Father and I had been planning to inspire hope and courage instead of just depressing everyone.” The boy reached Winterfell's maester, handing him a scroll. “News for Lord Stark. What could it be?”

His wife hadn't touched any food so far, but was now tearing at a plain chunk of bread. “Some lord making his excuses for not appearing to the wedding, I should say. It is either that, or the Wall came down.”

Aegon frowned. While she'd been speaking, the maester had glanced at the seal on the scroll and risen, hurrying towards their table and Lord Brandon. “All lords of the North are either here or have sent someone. I doubt it.”

He wasn't the only one with his eyes on the maester. The king and queens were eyeing him discretely, Dany and Jae had stopped being insufferably happy for a moment, and Lady Stark was watching him come towards them while Brandon still appeared oblivious. Upon closer inspection, Aegon was quite certain that he was eating raw eel.

He finally noticed the maester, took the scroll, looked at the seal and shrugged. The entire table intently watched Lord Stark's expression while he read, but it barely changed.

Nothing too dramatic, then, Aegon guessed. Next, he saw Lord Brandon pass the scroll to the king via Lyanna – so nothing insignificant, either.

“Gods”, Rhae sighed. “I cannot be so important that we all have to hold our breath while Father reads. We will find out soon enough.”

Very soon; in fact, as the scroll was being passed to them next. The seal was black and the hand unfamiliar, but easily legible.

 _Oh_ , he thought as he read. This would certainly matter in one way or another. “Lord Commander Mormont died”, he whispered to Rhae, then gave her the scroll to pass it on to Dany and Jae.

She picked up her cup again. “So the Watch has no leader?”

“Not at this very moment.” How interesting. “They _elect_ theirs. It is terribly fascinating.” On some level, he was quite jealous that Dany had been able to oversee the lordsmoot while he'd been rotting away.

Rhae rolled her eyes, blowing at her tea. “If you say so.” They could hear Jae curse softly after he'd read the message.

Benjen Stark and Cregan Snow were being called to their table by Lord Brandon, and the maester was walking towards Lady Dacey and the other Mormonts who'd come for the wedding. _Hurry_ , he thought at the black brothers – because Aegon was certain that if there was anyone the Crown wanted to lead at the Wall, it was Benjen.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and of course it was Jae, who had clearly been thinking the same. “If you and Father want me here while you inspire the lords, you have one day. I am taking them to the Wall on Rhovio tomorrow.”

He was about to nod, but then caught Jae's hand before he could leave. “I will join”, Aegon decided, hoping that the king would permit it. “I will _not_ miss this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was writing a modern AU of these particular characters, Aegon would be subscribed to at least three Politico Playbooks and watch parliamentary debates in his spare time.


	31. Dusk

_The same day_

_Rhaenys_

“We have all known this”, Aegon concluded the first part. “We have been preparing for it. Now the time draws near, and we must soon face it.”

The Great Hall was silent. As she'd thought, his speech hadn't exactly lightened the mood. “We must not despair”, he went on. “In fact, we cannot – defeat would mean the certain death of any living being, and is thus not an option. Our ancestors ended the first Long Night some eight-thousand years ago, when their keeps were wooden shacks and most of their weapons were made from bronze. We now have many things they did not: real castles, plate armour and good steel, the knowledge that dragonglass harms the Others and a whole mountain from which to mine it. We have a united realm instead of hundreds of petty lords who fought each other in the midst of it, we have provisions arriving from the south to stock your larders as we speak. And we have dragons.”

Murmurs of agreement went through the crowd. “There are currently a hundred-thousand wildlings camped just before the Wall. They wish to cross it, and we will grant this wish once their king bends the knee.” Now, the murmurs sounded a lot less appreciative. “This is a challenge, yes. None of you like it. But be aware that a hundred-thousand living wildlings joining our fight is better than a hundred-thousand dead ones attacking us.”

A whisper came from somewhere not too far down the Great Hall. Aegon, standing before the high seat, inclined his head. “What was that, my lord?”

A few seats away from where Rhaenys sat, she could hear Lyanna click her tongue. “You must forgive our lord of Bolton, Your Grace”, Lord Stark thundered from behind Aegon. “He has drained himself of so much blood that it has weakened his voice. Will you please speak up, Roose?”

“I merely asked”, the voice came again, barely louder, “how we can be certain that these wildlings will fight with, and not against us.”

Aegon nodded. Rhaenys knew he had prepared meticulously for the entire speech – and that this particular question was the most obvious one of all. “They are many, to be sure. But my royal brother, who has seen their camp, can tell us all of what they are: not an army, but a people. Women, children, the elderly – and, yes, fighting men who would rather see their families safe. Wights, my lords and ladies, have no training, and their strength does not depend on their bodies. An old crone or a young boy could be just as vicious as a seasoned raider, if they were turned. Keep them alive, and while they might be strange to us and become even more mouths to feed, they will still be far less of a threat than if they were undead.”

“But, Your Grace”, another one cut in, “a hundred-thousand wights beyond the Wall are better than a hundred-thousand wildlings in the Gift. They can't hurt us on that side.”

Aegon sighed, and it didn't sound exasperated, but grave. He had practiced that particular sigh, too, even though she'd relentlessly mocked him for it. “Would that were true, Lord Dustin. If we could be sure that the threat would be forever constrained north of the Wall, we would have no need to worry at all – safe for the fact that we are speaking of a hundred-thousand men and women, my lords, whose preventable slaughter would surely be a mark of callousness and cowardice on our part.” The last words came out sharp. “But there is more: It was – how many years ago, dear stepmother? Twenty?”

Lyanna inclined her head. “Twenty-two, I believe.”

“Twenty-two years ago”, Aegon went on, “the then-Lady Lyanna Stark was in the godswood of this very keep when the old gods spoke to her; telling her of the return of the Others and all that would come with it. Later; nine-and-ten years past, by own parents resided at Dragonstone when my royal father was guided by dreams to enter the mountain. There, he walked through smouldering stones and found three dragon eggs. My beloved wife was born that same day.”

He shot her a smile, then returned to walking up and down the raised plaform while he spoke. Had they been in the south, Rhaenys was sure he would've added the detail that she'd been born in a sept. “You all know what happened at Harrenhal, my lords and ladies; many of you were there. You all know why our king has two queens; and all saw how he defeated Lord Baratheon with a shield painted with weirwood sap while those who are now the queens cheered for him; my royal mother carrying me in her belly.”

“Yes, Your Grace”, another lord cut in. He was one of the largest men Rhaenys had ever seen, and one look at Dany told her that she, too, thought he looked a caricature of a northerner. “We've all heard this often enough. What does it have to do with the wildlings?”

Aegon nodded. “I beg your patience, Lord Umber. A good nine moons after Harrenhal; after my unfit grandfather had been deposed, a great storm descended over Dragonstone. This was the night that my brother and my aunt were born. The next day, King Aerys laid a fire in which he perished – and which led to the hatching of three dragons.” He stopped walking. “I believe we can all agree that the reason for all this; for the discovery of the dragon eggs and their hatching, thus returning them to the realm after a century and a half, lay firmly in the gods' – any gods' – desire to give us a chance to fight the Others. And yet, we had to learn less than two years past that dragons cannot be flown past the Wall.”

Most faces before them looked confused. “Nor around it?”, someone asked.

“Nor around it, Lord Cerwyn”, Aegon confirmed.

“Then what”, an older lord cut in, “is the point of the dragons?”

This was the realisation he'd wanted to lead them to. “Well, Lord Karstark, either there is none and all the magical visions and godly interference of the last two decades came down to nothing that has to do with the Others – or, and I hate to say this: the Wall will fall.”

There was a brief, stunned silence. Rhaenys could see several men open their mouths at once, though Aegon got in before them: “You can all see, my lords and ladies, why this makes it an absolute necessity to let the wildlings cross the Wall before that. We want them alive; and we are confident that they know that there is nothing for them to gain by turning on us. We are well-aware that there are generations of enmity between you, but there is nothing – _nothing_ – more important than the coming war for the dawn. I am certain we will be able to manage a handful of potentially unruly smallfolk.”

“And what if, Your Grace”, another lord said, and Rhaenys knew this one was Lord Manderly, “their king refuses to bend the knee?”

Aegon shrugged. “Then we will ensure he dies, and that the next one is more sensible.”

While this answer seemed to mostly satisfy them, it was the only thing he'd said so far that wasn't true. Jae had told them all about the way the wildlings thought, and that to kill the King-Beyond-the-Wall would only mean that their host would disperse; leaderless.

There was, however, no need to point this out. “Are there any further questions?”

There had been many more questions, in fact, and they would sit there for many more hours. Much later, when it was already dark (though dusk fell quickly now, and so far north), it was time to take a breath of fresh air.

“How does it feel to be wed?”, Alarra asked Dany.

The three of them were in the godswood, having taken refuge from the constant sewing ladies at Winterfell were apparently expected to do. “Better than I thought”, her aunt said. “I find that I quite like the idea that Jaehaerys is now my husband.”

“See?” Rhaenys arranged her cloak and skirts after sitting down on a thick root. “I felt much the same. There is something quite...”, she searched for a word and settled on: “ _nice_ about it.”

Alarra only sighed. “I must be betrothed soon. I can only hope it will be Torrhen for me, then. He is handsome, I like his manner, and he would make me the Lady of Winterfell one day. The idea of marrying any of the other northern men makes me feel either bored or horrified.”

“I suspect you would be bored even here.” Rhaenys had seen her in King's Landing often enough to know that Alarra wasn't made to spend her days in some isolated castle – even if this was unlikely to be her choice in the end. “You are always welcome at court, of course, once everything else is done.”

“Is that not the strangest part?”, Dany asked, plucking a frost-covered blade of grass. “Jae did not want a large wedding because he thought it a waste of time. He was wrong – having everyone in one place can only help – but I understand why he thought so. We could all be dead in a few moons, and we still spend so much time _talking_.” She ripped the blade apart into a dozen tiny shreds. “I understand _why_ , but the point remains. It is somewhat absurd that we have to treat these lords' pride and fears so delicately when the alternative to what we propose is the extinction of all life.”

Rhaenys had to join in with her bitter laugh after that. She wasn't wrong.

Alarra pulled her cloak tighter around herself. “How bad will it be? I have been hearing about these Others my entire life, but I cannot say I understand what you and Aegon and the king are speaking of. Will they truly come; destroy the Wall and all of that?”

Rhaenys wished she didn't have that certainty. “Without a doubt. The Long Night will come; whatever it is that means. They will be here, the Wall will likely fall, they will try to kill us all.”

Alarra stared at her while Dany only nodded, sadly. “I always assumed it would keep them away. How could it possibly come down?”

“We do not know how.” Dany was brushing the shreds of grass off her gloves. “Some books speak of a horn, though who knows if that is true?” Though she didn't correct her, Rhaenys thought it likely that it was – especially after her experience with the Crow's Eye. “It must be some sort of feat of magic, of course. The Others could have millions of wights and it would still take them years to tear it down by force, unless they have tools we do not know of.”

Rhaenys noticed a snowflake landing on her skirts, then promptly melting. It was snowing most of the time up here by now, though the godswood of Winterfell was much warmer than anywhere outside the walls. “Perhaps they do”, she suggested. “We hardly know anything at this point. That being said, I think the only forces that could truly damage the Wall are magic, which they most certainly have, and fire – which we can assume they cannot use. Giant trebuchets throwing burning projectiles appear less likely than some sort of ancient spell.”

“Well that is...”, Dany frowned, “some consolation? I have found trebuchets quite inconvenient when flying into battle.”

“Gods.” Alarra let her head sink back against the trunk of a great oak. “Father should have let me learn to fight, just like the two of you.”

“Agreed.” Rhaenys thought it ludicrous that most ladies weren't taught; especially in times like these. “That does not mean you have to be helpless, however. Whether as Lord Eddard's daughter or as the lady of another keep, you will be needed as well.”

“And even we are constrained.” Dany drew her knees close to her chest. “Aegon and Jae are going to Castle Black, and we are not. It is a shame, because I would have truly wanted to speak to some of these wildlings. They must know so much we do not.”

All knowledge of the Others aside, Rhaenys also wouldn't mind sitting down with some wood's witch to learn a thing or two. “The women are less likely to speak to them”, she said, though she'd already made that argument to the king – who had pointed out that she and Dany were needed at Winterfell.

Dany smirked. “I am not even sure that is true, considering that many of their women are spearwives and often very accustomed to male company. Jae's former lover is at the Wall, for instance, and I do not believe that she would like to speak to me.”

“What?” Alarra stared at her. “He took a _wildling_ as his lover?”

“Of course he did”, Rhaenys said. She'd known of this before, and had entirely forgot how it would scandalise most. “What else had he been meant to do; bed one of the black brothers?” Aegon might've done that, but Jae had never seemed interested in men.

Alarra rubbed her temples. “It never ceases to amaze me that none of the rules apply to your House.”

How dull things would be if they did. “Well, dragons will do that”, Dany said. “Please do not share this detail about Jae, however; not while the wildlings are such a contentious issue.” She blinked. “And, I suppose, also in consideration of the fact that we wed last night. I almost forgot already.”

“It is easy to”, Alarra replied. “The happiness of your wedding was somewhat overshadowed by all this talk of the actual calamity that is approaching.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each of them caught up in her own thoughts – and fears, most likely. Rhaenys wished she had Balerion with her. “I hope that does not mean everyone in the Watch is doomed”, Alarra finally said. “My father is there, for now, though he could leave. Uncle Benjen and Cousin Creg, however...” She shook her head. “As their vows say: They shall live and die at their posts.”

“I am sure that if the post itself were to be destroyed before they die, that would offer a certain amount of flexibility.” Rhaenys considered bringing up what she knew of Cregan's feelings for Alarra, but then again, there was no use in complicating matters further. “And of course, we now have to see who will lead the Watch into this fight.” And, while they were at it: how Jeor Mormont had died. The message they'd received had not included this detail.

“Would I be right to believe that the princes are going to the Wall to make Uncle Benjen the Lord Commander?”, Alarra asked.

Dany raised an eyebrow. “They are merely ensuring that the First Ranger and the late Lord Commander's steward will be able to reach Castle Black quickly and cast their votes in time. The Crown would never dream of interfering in the choosing.”

_Jaehaerys_

“I am very glad to hear you will bring them to the Wall, Your Grace”, Lady Barbrey told him. “It goes without saying that all steps must be taken so that Lord Benjen may take command.”

She'd approached him after the breakfast, and now they were walking the ramparts together. “My uncle is the First Ranger and a Stark, my lady. I am sure the sworn brothers will take these things into consideration.”

She stopped to lean against the battlements. “You spent what, a year at the Wall, good prince? You cannot possibly tell me that you would not be able to influence the outcome in any way.”

Lady Barbrey was right, of course. Yet, he knew what he had to say, and it felt like it was his father speaking through him: “My brother and I will merely observe while the men of the Night's Watch make their own, independent decision, as is proper. We trust they will choose wisely.”

“I see”, she said with a knowing smile. “You must forgive me for my eagerness to see you interfere, but I understand we share a goal in this. Benjen Stark is, without a doubt, the best choice.”

He looked out over the walls – they could see the winter town from here, steadily expanding as the weather grew colder. “Further, he is the best choice for your son. I understand.”

She nodded, looking satisfied, but then frowned. “How did Mormont die?”

“We do not know.” The message had been written by Samwell Tarly, who Jaehaerys would usually trust to include all important facts. This led him to believe that it might just have been his age. “They called him the Old Bear for a reason.”

“He was not the youngest”, Lady Barbrey admitted. “And life at the Wall lacks comfort. Nevertheless, the Mormonts are hardy.” She shrugged. “I trust you will find out.”

Of that, Jaehaerys was sure – all he would really need to do was to ask Aemon. He turned towards her. “Certainly. And, my lady, I hope you know that I wish to see Creg succeed as well.” How might Aegon phrase this? “Any Lord Commander who would not recognise his character and potential would surely not be fit to lead the Watch itself, as that would be an enormous oversight.”

He could tell she was holding back a smile. “And the Crown would disapprove of such a choice?”

“It is not for us to disapprove”, Jaehaerys had to say, then looked up to the grey sky in search of the right words. The snows were only light today. “We would, however, be disheartened.”

“ _Disheartened”_ , she repeated, failing in keeping a smirk off her face. “I see. Well, Your Grace, I wish you all success in observing this choosing, and hope that the result will not dishearten any of us.”

So did he. Then again, Jaehaerys would do all he could in order to avoid an undesirable outcome.


	32. The Choosing I

_Castle Black, the following day_

_Aegon_

The maester's thin, wrinkled hands mapped his face. “Quite like the last Aegon I knew”, was the verdict. “Though there is something...”, he tapped on his cheekbones, “ _sharper_ here.”

He couldn't help but stare at Aemon, aware that he wouldn't notice. He had known so many of their House: Aegon V and all his siblings, and the previous generation as a boy as well; the first Targaryens to have a Martell for a mother. He'd lived through the Great Spring Sickness, several wars and rebellions, and – he quickly counted in his head – _seven_ kings.

“You must tell me everything”, he said. “We must speak for hours.”

Maester Aemon waved him off. “It does no good to dwell on the past.”

The old always said this. “Not to dwell, but to learn”, Aegon argued. “There is much to be understood about our world by examining how we arrived at this point -”

“For instance”, Jae interrupted, finally stopping his pacing next to them and leaning on the table in the maester's study, “how the Lord Commander died. I think we can all agree that this is a much more immediate concern than any dissection of the first Aerys' marriage, or whatever it is you would like to pester the maester with.”

Aegon clicked his tongue. “What is truly interesting about the first Aerys is that he recognised Aelora as heir, however briefly. This could have served as an argument for Rhae during the time of my captivity. _But_ ”, he said when Jae rolled his eyes, “I do agree that we must focus our attention on the matter at hand.”

Though blind, Aemon had been looking back and forth between them. “The Lord Commander slipped on ice when he stepped out of his quarters and fell down the stairs”, he explained. “He broke his neck.”

This immediately seemed strange to Aegon, and he wasn't alone. “He slipped on ice”, Jae repeated, pacing again. “At the Wall. I seem to remember that the Watch is very aware of this danger, and goes to great pains to ensure all paths are covered with gravel in order to avoid this.” He looked to the last man in the room. “Who was responsible for the pathway and stairs outside the Lord Commander's tower?”

The Tarly boy looked nervous, though Aegon had heard that this was his usual state. “Normally, it would be his steward, Your Grace.”

Jae groaned. “And Creg was at Winterfell. Do not put it to him in those words, or he will find a way to blame himself.”

“Who replaced him?”, Aegon asked.

“I believe there was a rotation. The Lord Steward would know more.”

His brother nodded. “It appears one of the men missed their shift.” At the same time, he sent Aegon a look that said: _perhaps intentionally_. “What has happened since? I have not seen any of the free folk yet; did they return past the Wall?”

It was Aemon who answered: “In his position as castellan, the Lord Steward decided to have them confined. For their own safety.” His voice was too brittle to emit any sarcasm, but Aegon nevertheless thought it was there.

Jae stopped pacing. “Their _safety_. I see.”

The first thing Aegon noticed when they entered the wildlings' quarters was a wild mop of red hair rushing towards them; so quickly that both Loras' and Ser Jaime's hands flew to their swords. In the end, however, the danger only consisted of a young woman poking her finger against Jae's chest.

“This isn't what you promised. They're holding us hostage, Jon.”

This had to be that wildling lover he'd taken. “I know”, Jae said, removing her hand from his chest. Aegon nodded at the Kingsguard, who reluctantly left to stand guard outside the door.

The room was clearly meant to house black brothers; several beds positioned closely together. Next to the redhead, there were three men and another woman, all of whom he was quickly introduced to - another spearwife, a raider, a clearly legendary warrior named Tormund, and the son of the Magnar of Thenn. “This is my brother; Aegon, who will be king after our father”, Jae concluded.

“He's married to their sister”, Ygritte pointed out, crossing her arms. This led to disturbed looks from all others.

Aegon thought it best not to react. “Have you been told what has happened?” He wasn't quite sure as to how to address them.

“The old man Mormont died”, Tormund said. “And now, crows are fluttering in from all around to pick their next leader.” He glared at the door. “Seems they would rather have us out of sight.”

Both Ygritte and the other spearwife snorted derisively at that. “'Course, any of them up on the Wall will have trouble forgetting about us”, she pointed out.

This was true. While dragons couldn't be flown past the Wall, they had managed to go so high that they had been able to see the other side, and the vast wildling host was impossible to miss.

Jae sat down on one of the beds. “The Lord Steward”, he said. “Bowen Marsh. Has he given the order to lock you in here?”

“Marsh, yes”, Sigorn of Thenn confirmed. “Safety, he always say.” His expression made clear that he didn't believe this any more than anyone else.

“You are quite right that he means to keep you hostage”, Aegon said. “However, it will not be his decision to make much longer. The black brothers will choose their next Lord Commander soon, and it will be one who...”, _does our bidding_ , “understands it is important to treat guests as such.”

“Can't you just tell them to let us go?”, Ygritte asked, sitting on a bed opposite from Jae. “You're princes. You can tell them it's your father's command.”

Ah, but to be seen as interfering with the Watch's autonomy wouldn't help them elect a Lord Commander many would consider to be close to the Crown. “The Watch is not as such under our command”, Jae explained. “But do not worry. It will be done with soon; and not long after, you will be able to leave Castle Black when the rest of the free folk cross the Wall. In the meantime, while you may be bored, you are not under threat – what we can do is make clear to all that your safety _is_ important. Those black brothers standing guard outside your door will be replaced by one of our Kingsguard.”

“Great”, Ygritte said. “So we'll be your prisoners instead.”

Jae shook his head. “You all know me. I ask you to remember that you trusted me enough to come to Castle Black with me, and that I am still the same man I was then. As to my brother, we are as one. You will be out of here as soon as the Watch is done with the choosing.”

“This is incredible”, he said.

It was. He'd been this high up before, yet somehow, the vastness of space before them was made much more clear by standing at the edge of the Wall rather than sitting on a dragon's back. The cold wind only made him feel more lost. “I cannot believe you spent several moons in that wilderness.”

“Neither can I.” Jae frowned down at the wildling host. “It is miserable, truth be told, yet they still have not agreed to give up on that life.”

Were it not for the Others, then Aegon was sure that the camp before them could grow into a town with enough time and some trade from the south. “You have to introduce me to their king”, he said. “And many more of them. Is it not fascinating? What does their clinging to a life of hardship in favour of a rather abstract idea of freedom say about – well, _everything_? The nature of man; of governance and realms; the idea of a people in itself and power and history and...” He stared, suddenly quite overwhelmed. “ _Gods_ , Jae. There is so much we do not know.”

His brother pat him on the shoulder through the countless layers they were forced to wear. “Now may not be the perfect time to learn it.”

“Ah, but”, Aegon countered, “we seek to understand them in order to bring them past the Wall, do we not? And once this is all done with – assuming we will win because, as you would say, there is no point in considering what happens if we lose – then we will hopefully still have a great number of their kind to contend with. And then what?”

Jae wasn't nearly as opposed to considering these possibilities as he often pretended to be. “I told Mance Rayder everyone would be allowed to return north.”

“Which north?” Aegon looked down – not down the Wall, but _at_ the Wall under their feet. “This will all disappear, most likely. This realm will lose the fortification of its only land border. Should we build another Wall? Put up posts here and there; gatehouses?” The Wall stretched for a hundred-fifty miles to either side of them. “Impossible without such a structure. No, brother...”, Aegon pointed north, “all of this will need to be dealt with. And by that, I mean the people and the land. They cannot remain as they are without a barrier this large.”

He wasn't sure if Jae was massaging his temples or simply trying to warm his face. “Aegon, please. We have enough to worry about already. Do not make me think of this.”

He looked out over the camp, the forest behind, and the endless expanse stretching before them. A frozen wasteland populated by a collection of savage peoples? Perhaps. Also a great source for timber, game, fishing grounds to each side, and who knew what kinds of ore were hid in the Frostfangs?

Something would have to be done about _the_ North in that case. It was already as large as the rest of the realm combined in terms of area.

“Do not think of it, then”, he said. “But someone has to.”

“Yes.” Jae adjusted the hood Aegon had drawn into his face. “Someone who will be king. Certainly _not_ someone who was born to defeat the Others, because as soon as that is done, I will renege all responsibility and – fly around Essos or something. Being a prince is too difficult.”

“You would leave us?”, Aegon asked, thinking: _you will be my Hand one day_.

“Well, not forever”, Jae had to admit. “I love you all too much for that, and the entire idea hinges on Dany coming with me. But can you blame me for just”, he drew his cloak tighter around himself, “wanting to be somewhere warm?”

Aegon smiled and took his arm. “Fine then; we will go back down.”

He cast another glance at the wild lands north of them before they left. Yes – someone _would_ need to think about this.

They dined with the high officers that night. Castle Back had long exceeded its capacity for seating all its inhabitants in one hall and at one time, though they were in the most splendid; the Shieldhall with its colourful display of all the families the brothers had (supposedly) left behind.

Aegon let his eyes wander over the men assembled in this place. Young and old, common and noble, all dressed in black though their garments' quality varied widely. Close to Samwell Tarly, he spied one that drew his eye.

“Who is he?”, he asked Jae, nodding towards the young man.

His brother shrugged. “Which one? You are pointing at two hundred of them.”

“The pretty one.” He had a face many ladies in the Red Keep would be jealous of, and black curls to go with it.

Jae rolled his eyes. “He might be new; I have never seen him before.”

Well, Aegon wanted to find out. He waved to Cregan Snow, who hurried over to them quickly, and asked.

“That is Satin, Your Grace”, he explained. “From Oldtown. He's a steward.”

“Is he, now?” What a name. Aegon watched the man, who had by now become aware and glanced back at them, giving a polite nod. “Are you able to ensure that this Satin tends to my rooms?”

“I can try, I suppose”, Cregan said. He cast a confused glance at Jae, whose eyes may as well have rolled to the back of his skull.

“Please do.” Cregan walked off, still visibly puzzled, and Jae sighed.

“I do not know how Rhae abides by this.”

Aegon laughed. “By knowing it means nothing – and it is not like she has never involved Sarella in some rather particular acts of sorcery.” Gods, he missed her. “Also, I just met the wildling who was your lover, so I am not sure that you have a leg to stand on.”

“I did not even know I was betrothed, then”, Jae argued. “And if it had been you, you probably would have bedded her _and_ several of the black brothers.”

“Quite true”, Aegon said, unbothered. “I do not understand why anyone would limit themselves to only men or women, but in the end, it is your loss. I wonder what this Satin – yes?”

Loras had quickly dined before with some other knights so that he could now stand guard behind them, and had heard their entire conversation before deciding to butt in. “Some men were talking about him earlier”, he whispered in both their ears. “An Oldtown whore, they say.”

Aegon raised his eyebrows. “He must be acquainted with several of your cousins, then.”

“Undoubtedly.” Loras tilted his head while studying the man, who Aegon was sure only pretended not to notice. “If _he_ does not like men, then you can release me from my vows and make me wed.”

“By the gods”, Jae said. “Promise me you will remember why we are here.”

“Oh, certainly.” Aegon leaned back. “I am perfectly capable of doing several things at once.”

“Will that be all, Your Grace?”, the steward asked after having prepared Aegon's quarters in the King's Tower. There was a bedchamber, a small study, and another room that contained a bath; all with the hearths that were surely necessary if one wanted to survive up here.

“Not quite. Pour both of us some wine, please; I would speak with you.” The other man didn't miss a beat and Aegon watched him from behind his desk; elegant limbs and graceful movements. “You are Satin, are you not? From Oldtown.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He handed him a cup but kept standing, and Aegon gestured to another chair.

“My Kingsguard outside is from the Reach as well. I have not been in many years, but I do like Oldtown quite a bit.”

Satin looked towards the door. “He's a Tyrell, isn't he?”

“Yes”, Aegon said, only halfheartedly feigning surprise. “Do you know many Tyrells? Forgive me, but I thought you lowborn.”

“Oh, that I am”, Satin said, “but I could very well be some lord's bastard – even if a maester is more likely.” He had a sip of the wine. “Does Your Grace truly need to pretend you didn't know I was a whore?”

Well, apparently not. “I did not want to offend. Now, Satin, what do you think about the choosing?”

He didn't seem to have expected that, but caught himself quickly. “It'll be either Benjen Stark or Alliser Thorne”, he said. “The Old Bear appointed most of the other castles' commanders recently, and they don't have as much experience.”

“Not Bowen Marsh?”, he asked.

Satin shook his head. “He's not the type to win men over, and he knows it. If anyone even puts his name forward, he'll say they should vote for Thorne instead.”

Well, that was interesting already. “And why not for Stark?”

Satin smirked at him. “I feel like I'm back in Oldtown, with one maester asking me what the other said about him. Marsh, Thorne, and many others believe the Lord Commander shouldn't allow the wildlings past.”

Aegon raised his eyebrows. “And oppose the Crown?”

“They say the king can't force the Watch to do this.” He shrugged. “It would take someone more learned than me to know if that's true.”

“It is not really clear”, Aegon admitted. The legal relationship between the Watch and the Iron Throne was barely codified – in fact, he thought, this was something his father should've taken care of in the last two decades. “But never mind that. What is the prevailing opinion?”

“Split”, Satin replied. “At least as far as I can tell. Keep in mind, Your Grace, that I'm not the most popular of black brothers.”

He'd guessed that much, and it was exactly the reason why Aegon had wanted to speak with him. “Who will you vote for?”

The steward snorted. “Stark. Ser Alliser used to tell the other recruits to come to my bed at night and use me like the girl I am, and I have Creg Snow and his friends to thank for nothing ever happening. I still sleep with a dagger under my pillow every night.”

Aegon stared at him, suddenly feeling like something was very wrong. “You are a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Surely, such a...”, _oh gods he'd been planning to bed him_ , “violation would be unthinkable.”

Satin grinned, though not happily. “Many of my sworn brothers see me less like one of their own and more like the whore I used to be, Your Grace. And even those who don't will avoid being alone with me, as that could lead to rumours.” He stared into his wine. “It doesn't make sense since a good portion of them are fucking each other anyway, as you'd expect when you put thousands of men into one place. But it's somehow different with me.”

Why had he thought that he could just call him to his rooms and have him on his knees? Feeling disgusted with himself, Aegon drank more wine, which felt sour in his stomach. Not to think of what had happened to...

Tōma. Gods above, he hoped Euron hadn't ruined men for him. “I regret to hear that, Satin, and I thank you for giving me this insight. Now it would be best if you left before any rumours might arise and make it even harder for you.”

Again, he looked surprised, then narrowed his eyes. “Rumours that hurt me or Your Grace?”

Aegon grit his teeth – he'd likely just made it worse. “You. I am the Prince of Dragonstone; I do not need to care. Besides, anyone south from here has already heard much of my proclivities.”

Satin looked curious as he rose. “As much as I wouldn't want to cause offence to a prince, I still need to ask: I had suspected that you'd planned to do just what rumour would say when they told me I'd be tending to your rooms. Was I wrong?”

Of course he'd seen right through him. “No offence is taken”, Aegon said. “You are an extraordinarily beautiful man, after all. But please be aware that you will not need to do anything you do not wish to.”

At that, Satin emptied the rest of his cup, then sauntered over to Aegon's desk with that same fluid grace he'd admired at the start of their conversation. “And what of”, he asked while leaning over the desk towards him, “things I _do_ wish to do? I'm not the only extraordinarily beautiful man in this room.”

Aegon laughed, then, and felt much better. Suddenly, it seemed silly that he'd worried so much. “Not tonight”, he said anyway. “But I will be here for some time, and I will be happy to prove any rumours true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven kings in Aemon's lifetime: Daeron II, Aerys I, Maekar, Aegon V, Jaehaerys II, Aerys II, Rhaegar
> 
> So... okay, in the books Ser Alliser runs for Lord Commander very briefly but he's so universally hated among anyone who's joined in the last few years that he doesn't do well and quickly drops out. However, the electoral math is very different in this context. More on the details in the next chapter.  
> (Don't ask me why he's at the Wall at all, because it can't be the canonical reason. Let's just say he probably pissed someone off by being a deeply unpleasant guy, which led to a confrontation that resulted in him needing to take the black to quell everyone's ire.)


	33. The Golden Company II

_Winterfell, the next day_

_Daenerys_

“Now”, Rhaegar said, “tell me again which sellsword companies you met in Lys.”

They were in his rooms in the Guest Keep. “The Windblown, the Stormcrows, the Company of the Cat, the Second Sons, and the Brave Companions.” Lyanna scribbled them down while she spoke.

“Gods, these names.” Rhae slumped into the couch by Dany's side. “I am not sure how one is to find the _Company of the Cat_ threatening.”

That was true, yet: “The Company of the Cat are those I am most optimistic about”, Dany explained. “They have three thousand men and their captain seemed to see this as any other contract. If we pay them, they will fight.”

“That seems like a fair arrangement”, Lyanna said, making a note next to the name.

“I would disregard two of the others altogether”, she went on. “The Second Sons as well as the Brave Companions are small companies, and vicious – if we had any enemies to terrorise, they could be useful, but as things stand, they would likely cause more trouble than their numbers are worth.” Besides, she'd burned Mero's tent, and didn't think he'd be too well-disposed towards them.

“What about the Stormcrows?”, Elia asked, leaning against Rhaegar's shoulder. “I seem to remember you were rather well acquainted with their captain.”

Ah, yes. Daario. “ _One_ of their captains”, Dany said. “They have three, and the other two appear very likely to refuse.” The Ghiscari and the Qartheen clearly hand't liked her. “That being said, it is worth a try. They only number five hundred, but all are on horse, and Naharis at least has an adventurous spirit.”

Rhae grinned. “Perhaps he should be kept away from Jae.”

Dany had no idea how such an interaction might go. “Perhaps. And, well, this leaves the Windblown – two thousand men, to be sure, but the Tattered Prince does not want gold. He wants _Pentos._ ”

Rhaegar pinched his nose. “Pentos? No. Two thousand men are not worth committing to a war in the Free Cities when this is all done.”

Dany nodded, having expected this, but Elia seemed thoughtful. “Ah, but, my love”, she said, “what if this commitment would never need to be fulfilled?”

Both Rhaegar and Lyanna looked at her expectantly, the latter flicking the quill between her fingers. “Elaborate”, the king said.

“ _If_ ”, she explained, “hypothetically, the Tattered Prince were to not survive the war for the dawn – and that could very well happen, considering that it _is_ a war – then his claim to Pentos would die with him. And if this were to be communicated to the magisters in advance, I could imagine that they would be duly grateful.”

Lyanna groaned. “It somehow feels worse to speak of such treachery when in Winterfell.”

“Are you truly opposed to the idea?”, Elia asked.

“No, but I wish I was.” Both looked to Rhaegar, who nodded.

Rhaenys cocked her head. “I suppose that means that if the Tattered Prince does not do us the favour of being killed by a horde of wights, we will have to take this into our own hands?”

“Regrettably so”, the king said. Dany decided to do as the others and swallow down her discomfort, instead considering what they might get out of it from the Pentoshi. It could be a fair amount of gold, which was always useful.

“Assuming all three companies will agree, this means about five thousand and five hundred additional men.” Lyanna stared down at the parchment. “That is not the world, but every little bit will help. Yet, there must be more swords available for hire across the Narrow Sea, if one considers that this is how the Free Cities conduct war.”

“And yet, the largest of them all would never fight for us”, Rhaegar said. “The Golden Company has ten thousand, all of whom are highly trained and famously disciplined.”

“They had Blackfyre stolen from right under their noses”, Rhaenys pointed out. “This makes me doubt just how good they are. But either way, are we sure there is nothing to be done? The Blackfyres are gone. If you offered the descendants of their supporters the opportunity to return to Westeros and be welcomed back into the realm, I am sure many would prefer that to exile.”

Dany thought she had a point, though they were all forgetting about something. Before she could bring it up, Elia said: “We have thought about this. The issue lies in what we should do with them if they were to return – these are all highborn men who wish to regain their ancestral lands. The families those lands have been given to since their exile are unlikely to appreciate them being taken away again.”

“Besides”, Dany cut in, “we do not know what the current state of the Golden Company is at all, though we _do_ know that things likely changed after Strickland's death.”

“It is lucky, then, that we have someone who once knew them well”, Rhaegar said. “Where is your spy, in fact?”

She smiled. “The winter town.”

Instead of riding out, they had Lysono Maar called to the castle, where Dany began things by handing him a new ruby. “One can never be too careful”, she declared.

He looked relieved when he pulled the one he'd been wearing out of his tunic and over his head. Dany watched with fascination how his true face and stature immediately emerged, and Rhae sighed. “It will take me decades to become as good at this as Melisandre.”

Maar eyed the new necklace with suspicion. “Must I?”

“Yes, though not until you leave the room.” They were in her bedchamber while the king and queens made plans with the northerners. “This one will make you look like a criminal from King's Landing.”

He slid it into his pocket. “I shall hope he has not travelled north, then.”

“Oh, not to worry”, Rhae said, lounging on Dany's bed. “I killed him.”

Maar's smile was strained. “Am I to understand this as a warning, princess?”

“Perhaps.” Though Marwyn was aware of the spy's every step, she still thought it might be good to keep him on his toes. “Now tell us, Lysono Maar. Why did you come to Westeros?”

He raised his eyebrows as his gaze followed her striding around him. “I told Your Grace, and the master of whisperers has confirmed my tale.”

“Yes”, she said, standing behind him and noting how he tensed. “We know you told the truth. Nonetheless, yours is a rather remarkable story. You are common-born, is that correct?”

“Indeed.” He turned his head to better see her. “My father was a cobbler, and my mother helped in his shop. They still do the same, to be exact.”

Dany nodded. “Using wit and guile, a cobbler's son comes into the employ of Marea Pandaerys, wife to one of the most powerful magisters of Lys. Later, he serves the Golden Company – and finally, the Iron Throne.” She emerged to stand before him. “We are aware that there is no deeper secret here, else Marwyn would have told us. What I am getting to, however, is that you are a man of ambition.”

Maar's face was guarded. “If Your Grace says so.”

“You could have disappeared”, she continued. “When you first fled Lys, you did not need to join the Golden Company. And when you fled them, you did not need to come to us. Yes, both offered you safety, but the world is large and you are resourceful. Had you simply wanted to be left alone, you could have gone anywhere and forged a new, quiet life for yourself; perhaps even taking up your father's trade. Instead, both times, you turned to someone who could give you protection as well as a position.” She studied him in a way she hoped made his skin crawl. “What is it that you _want_ , Lysono Maar? What is your goal?”

He first looked confused – and then resigned. “Your Grace will ask me to do something very dangerous.”

Rhae laughed from the bed. “He _is_ clever.”

Well, it looked like there was no more need for theatrics. “Indeed. I want you to travel back to Essos and recruit as much of the Golden Company to our cause as you can.”

After a heartbeat, Maar glanced at a chair. “Do you mind if I sit, princess?”

“Not at all.” So he did, and they gave him some time to gather his thoughts. Dany sat, too, though on her bed. She thought Rhae looked very entertained.

Finally, Maar spoke: “It may be possible, to an extent. Not all of my brothers approved of my death sentence, and as I told you before, the Golden Company was in a rather difficult state when I fled. A split could have already taken place, and if not, I might – and I say _might_ – be able to bring it about.” He looked straight at them. “Some will never serve or fight alongside your royal House. Not ever. At the same time, many – especially the Essosi – could be convinced, should the price be right. Now, that being said, I am just as likely to be killed in this. What do you offer?”

“Well, that _is_ why I asked what you want.” Dany was well-aware that if they simply sent him away, he was likely to never come back. The incentive to return had to be good. “In principle, we offer the sorts of things a king can give: land and a title. A nice, profitable keep in the Crownlands could soon belong to the knightly House of Maar.”

As she'd expected, he wasn't surprised at that. “What if I want something else?”, he asked. “A princess, for instance?”

Rhae laughed again. “You strike me as a man who would rather have a prince. Incidentally, I do not think my husband would be disinclined.”

He didn't comment on that. “I must admit that after a good decade as a spy, I find it difficult to freely state my own desires.”

Well, they didn't have time to accommodate his discomfort. “I must ask you to do it anyway. You are speaking to the sister and to the daughter of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms – there is much we can give.”

He took another moment to consider, then said: “I will gladly take a keep and a knighthood, Your Graces, but it is not what I most wish for. In order to do what you ask me to, I would demand that you grant me my true wish – in addition, of course; I will not turn down land if it is offered.” She hadn't thought he would. “What I enjoy, princesses, is proximity to power and the ability to play a part in matters of consequence. So if I am to go and risk my life, and return with at least a part of the Golden Company, then I want the following: That keep; that knighthood; an official position at court; and an end to this surveillance. I may also ask for some other knight's daughter as a bride – the Princess of Summerhall is correct in stating that I do not have much interest in women in the bedchamber, but if I am to become a Westerosi knight, I suppose I will need an heir.”

Dany briefly thought this over. These were all things they could give to him, and easily. “Consider it done. After all, if you do bring us those men, we can view your loyalty as proven.”

And if it destroyed the Golden Company for good at the same time, this would finally lay the matter of the pretenders to rest.

_The wildling camp_

_Jaehaerys_

The King-Beyond-the-Wall eyed his brother with obvious curiosity. “One step closer”, he said, “yet I'm still waiting for your father to show himself.”

“Circumstances at Castle Black currently do not permit for his presence”, Aegon said.

Mance Rayder leaned back in his chair. “And what would those be?”

So the wildlings didn't know. “Lord Commander Mormont has died”, Jaehaerys explained. “You know the Watch, of course. They would not appreciate the king's presence during the choosing.”

“The Old Bear is _dead_? How?” Rayder stared at them, then slowly rose. “Could I interest you in some ale?”

“Yes, thank you.” Jaehaerys had met with Rayder once in between Aegon's escape and his own wedding, and had already noted then that someone was missing from his tent. He hadn't dared to ask the last time. “I do not wish to pry”, he said as he was handed a cup made from horn, “but I remember there was a woman with you when we first met. Dalla.”

Mance Rayder's grief was obvious. “Dalla died as well”, he said, sitting back down and drinking deep. “Gone to join the gods, as she'd have said. She left me with our son.”

At least the child lived, then. This was good – Jaehaerys thought that fatherhood could push the King-Beyond-the-Wall towards the sort of decision they wanted him to make. “We are very sorry to hear of your loss”, he said while Aegon muttered something along the same lines.

“Yes, well.” Rayder stared into his horn. “Nothing to be done. Tell me what happened to Mormont.”

The prince could imagine how he'd react next: “He slipped on ice and broke his neck.”

“Did he now.” He'd said so very quickly. “Do you truly believe that just happened by accident?”

“Should we not?” Jaehaerys exchanged a look with his brother. Aegon had been quiet ever since they'd ridden out beyond the Wall, and he could only guess at everything that was going on in his head.

Mance Rayder didn't believe his act at all. “You don't, I hope, because I do not take you for a complete moron.” He looked grim. “Who will they choose?”

“Benjen Stark, we hope. If not, then Alliser Thorne.”

“Gods. I can't believe I'd actually prefer Stark.”

“Stark will let your people past the Wall.” Aegon was swirling the ale around in his cup as if it was wine. “Thorne – well, he would either be made to or be removed, but this would cost us all time we do not have. Currently, Castle Black is under the control of Bowen Marsh, who ensured that the free folk's representatives have become hostages.”

Rayder groaned. “Did the two of you just come to bury me in bad news? Needless to say, it wouldn't help our situation if anything were to happen to the free folk at Castle Black.”

“Our Kingsguard are tasked with their safety.” Aegon inclined his head. “You speak of _our_ situation. Yet, the simplest way to resolve it lies in your agreement to kneel before our father. Why have you still not accepted this? You know there is no other way, and you appear like a man who genuinely cares for his people's survival.”

Jaehaerys would have loved to know what the King-Beyond-the-Wall thought as he looked at his brother. “My people, young prince, aren't bound to follow me forever. If I just agreed to do what you ask, I'd have no way to keep them from wandering off and deciding to attack the Wall after all, or try and cross the Bridge of Skulls. The three of us know that'd be folly, but that won't stop all of them from trying.” He leaned forward. “I've lived as a kneeler and as one of the free folk. Believe me when I tell you that going south on _your_ king's terms means giving up more than you could ever imagine. They'll need to be convinced, and for that, they'll need to at least see your father before giving up everything they've ever known.”

Jaehaerys clicked his tongue. “Are you not periodically set upon by wights? Do the dead not pick at your host and thin it out with every day that passes?”

Rayder was surprised. “I don't know how you know that, but yes. That doesn't change the fact that the only way to get all or at least most of them past the Wall is to make them understand that it's the best thing to do.” After a pause, he added: “How _do_ you know that?”

“A crow told me. Do not forget I am of the blood of the First Men.”

Aegon had his first sip of the ale, and Jaehaerys had to suppress a smile at his carefully blank face. It wasn't _good_ ale. “As we said, the king will come after the choosing – if he were to travel to Castle Black before, this might just lead to an outcome that all of us would rather avoid. I take it you understand.”

“All too well.” Rayder looked at them both. “So what will you do to make Benjen Stark the next Lord Commander?”

In truth, the fact that they couldn't be seen as being involved would pose a challenge – though it wasn't something they wouldn't be able to work around. Jaehaerys had his friends in the Watch, Creg chief amongst them – and while his cousin didn't quite like the idea of working so surreptitiously, he did recognise the importance of what they did.

His uncle Benjen himself at least pretended to be unaware of their efforts. Being who he was, he didn't need too much help either way.

By far the most important men to convince, however, were the commanders of the other castles. “Most of our brothers are not at Castle Black”, Samwell Tarly explained to Aegon. “Yet, they cannot all travel here for the choosing. The other eight-and-ten commanders each cast the votes of _all_ the men under their command, which makes up the vast majority of the Watch.”

His brother smirked. “A very fair system, I see. And a candidate needs to reach two thirds of all votes in order to be chosen?”

“Yes, Your Grace. That means more than six thousand votes. Close to one in ten black brothers _are_ stationed here, but for all other votes – well.” He looked sheepish. “It would not be an exaggeration to say that they depend on the allegiances of these eight-and-ten men alone.”

They considered the specific numbers, though neither of the brothers enjoyed that part: Overall, there were exactly 9,573 men at the Wall, which meant that the winner would need 6,382 tokens cast in his favour. Castle Black was the most important by far, though Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge also housed slightly larger numbers than the other castles. “Discounting Castle Black for a moment, as the brothers here will cast their votes themselves”, Aegon said after a while, “and whether we include the two second-largest or not: four-and-ten of the right castles together could choose the next Lord Commander even if everyone else opposed him.”

“If I may, Your Grace”, Tarly cut in, “while this is true for the numbers, the new Lord Commander _will_ need to live at Castle Black. A man hated here could be chosen, but it would be difficult for him to remain in place.”

“And where do the loyalties lie here?”, Aegon asked. “Can they be described in broad strokes? Do the lowborn have one preference and the highborn another? The young and old? Are northerners more inclined towards Stark?”

Jaehaerys' head was beginning to hurt as he thought of everything they'd need to consider. “As to the latter – yes, I suppose”, Tarly said. “I do not know whether there is a difference between low- and highborn brothers, but I believe that Ser Alliser is disliked by many of those who joined in the last few years and where trained by him. He is”, a short hesitation, “unpleasant at times.”

“So I heard”, Aegon said darkly. He stared down at the parchments before them, where it was clearly laid out how many men were stationed at each castle, and who commanded them. Then he grinned. “Stark and Thorne will not be the only candidates. I assume the first round will take place once the last of the commanders arrives?”

“Indeed, my prince.” Jaehaerys thought Tarly seemed very eager, though from what Creg had told him, this might as well have been motivated by his own experience with Ser Alliser. “If it please Your Grace, I could compile information about the commanders themselves. Besides their names and castles, of course.”

Aegon stood. “That would be excellent. Now, if you will excuse us, we have an appointment with the Lord Steward.”

They spoke to Bowen Marsh, who seemed to have very little to say about most things he was asked about: Mormont's death, the choosing, and the free folk he'd essentially imprisoned. He only perked up when asked to send a list of all supplies the Watch would soon need to Winterfell, and then went on at length about the state of their stores.

“Bland”, Aegon said after Marsh had left them in his study in the King's Tower. “Perhaps purposefully so?”

“Perhaps.” Jaehaerys looked out the window and watched as Marsh hurried through the cold winds. “He has a reputation for being excellent at keeping track of numbers, and not much else.” He turned back to face his brother. “Do you know what list I really want from him? The one of the rotation of stewards who saw to Mormont's rooms while Creg was gone.”

Aegon looked very self-satisfied at that, leaning back behind his desk. “I believe it is on the way.”

After a very brief moment of surprise, Jaehaerys connected the dots. “That steward you bedded?”

“You know, I actually have not, at least not yet.” Now, _that_ was much more surprising. “But yes, I had Satin search the Lord Steward's study while he was occupied with us. After everything he just told us about the exact amounts of grain and hard cheese the Watch has, I would be surprised if he had not written this down.”

“He will have.” He leaned back against the window and felt a very slight draft of cold air tickle his neck. “The black brothers will cast their votes using tokens. Nine and a half _thousand_ tokens, which will then have to be counted. I am beginning to think this will all take a while.”

“I know”, Aegon said. “Especially if there is more than one round, and there will be. We are condemned to spend some time up here – cold and without our wives.”

Jaehaerys groaned. If he had known this would happen, he might not have been so ready to leave Dany behind right after their wedding.


	34. The Choosing II

_Castle Black, a week later. The second vote._

_Aegon_

“None of the men standing has reached the required majority”, Aemon announced after running them all through the numbers.

This surprised no one. It was the second round of the choosing already, and not much had moved except for weeding out some of the weakest candidates, including the commander of Hoarfrost Hill, who had clearly been the only one voting for himself during the first round (477 votes, corresponding directly to the amount of men stationed in his castle). Regrettably, his tokens had gone to Ser Alliser Thorne this time around.

Still, Benjen Stark was ahead, if only by 3,642 to Thorne's 3,617. Far behind them, there were the respective commanders of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge; Cotter Pyke and Ser Dennys Mallister, who both had received less than 1,200 votes coming from their own castles, another one each, and a few men at Castle Black. This left a very small handful of others who Aegon assumed had received their tokens as japes from their friends, and meant that none of the candidates had come even close to the 6,382 required.

“Well”, Jae said into his ear as the black brothers took the announcement in with a murmur, “I believe we must do something.”

“As do I.” Tradition demanded a vote be held every single day until a new Lord Commander was found. Considering the size of the Watch, this meant that the black brothers cast their tokens early in the morning, Aemon spent the rest of the day counting, and the results were announced after supper. Both had to take place in the courtyard, else not everyone would've been able to attend.

It also meant that there was little time to act between the rounds. As near a thousand men filed out of the yard and into different parts of the castle, most of them discussing the results, Aegon spotted a flaxen-haired young man who seemed embroiled in an intense discussion with a few others.

Ser Elys Farman, commander of Hoarfrost Hill. Aegon would have loved to know why he'd decided for Thorne instead of Stark.

The commanders were clearly well-aware of their importance in these proceedings and easily stood out from the rest of their brothers. “This looks good for Thorne”, Aegon told his brother while they walked back to the King's Tower, castling glances back to where the commanders stood. “He has made more progress than your uncle since yesterday. We need at least one of them to switch his vote by the morning.”

They ascended the wooden stairs leading up to the tower's entrance. “Agreed”, Jae said. “It would be easiest if Mallister and Pyke stepped back and threw their support behind Benjen. Though even then...”, he seemed to run the numbers through in his head, “it would not be entirely enough. Closer, but not quite there.” Having reached the top of the stairs, he leaned against the railing and looked down. “There is one northerner who spoke against my uncle even before the vote.”

Aegon scoffed. “Flint, you mean? I thought that was quite disloyal.”

“All of Thorne's supporters are _disloyal_ if they want him to lead because he will act against Father's commands.” They'd heard it all before both the votes: Thorne's men justified their support not by praising his actions and character, but by painting him as the one they'd need to stand against the wildlings.

Something stood out from among the thinning crowd – not a man wearing black, but a very large wolf with brilliant white fur. “I would love to have you speak to Flint”, Aegon said. “But you cannot. Mayhaps your cousin will help.”

Cregan Snow was happy to oblige. Aegon and Jae were on their way to listen in on the conversation when they saw Sam Tarly hurry towards them from the rookery, and Aegon nodded to Jae to go ahead.

“A raven from the king, Your Grace”, he announced loudly, nodding to the black brothers who were passing them in the still-busy courtyard.

Aegon looked down at the scroll he was handed. It didn't bear his father's sigil; just a black blob of wax that still felt slightly warm to the touch.

He murmured his thanks and went to follow his brother, unrolling the scroll as he walked and mourning the fact that Samwell Tarly would never become the lord he'd been born to be. To have a man like this in the Reach could have been good.

 _Please burn this after reading_ , it said, and he rolled his eyes. Yes, obviously. _Ser Alliser offered Ser Elys 200 more men and a high place of command in any battle._

 _Well_ , Aegon thought, deciding on a detour to find the nearest torch or candle. This wasn't even that large of a promise, and yet, he could well imagine that Thorne did not intend to keep it – 200 men could easily be pooled from the other castles, but not if he planned on giving similar assurances to anyone else whose support he wanted.

He got rid of the parchment, watching it burn until there was nothing but ash. By the time he reached his brother, the conversation had already progressed. Cregan was speaking to Artos Flint, Commander of Oakenshield, in the shadow of Castle Black's tallest tower. Jae was just around the corner and pulled Aegon back when he tried to look at the men, though he'd seen enough to know that Ghost was by Cregan's side.

“Your uncle is a good man”, he heard Flint say with a particularly northern voice, and Aegon remembered he was one of the first Flints; of the mountain clans. “I still can't vote for him. Not as long as he says he will let them come south of the Wall.”

“Does my lord thinks he _likes_ it? The Starks have spilled as much blood as the Flints fighting them. Together, often enough.” Aegon approved of this line of argument. “He doesn't want them south, but what he wants even less is them to be fighting with instead of against the Others.”

There was a pause, then: “You've fought them.”

“I've fought wights, my lord. I have only seen two men go up against an Other: Qhorin Halfhand, who lost, and my cousin, who won. But I can tell you that none of us would be served by having all those wildlings die north of the Wall.”

“Are these the words of a black brother?”, Flint asked. “Or those of your princely cousin?”

When there was another, longer silence, Aegon couldn't resist; sneaking another glance around the corner. Ghost was slowly walking a circle around the men and then rested his snout on Cregan's shoulder. “I've said my vows before a weirwood tree, my lord; just like you. They say nothing about princes, kings, or lords. They say we are the shield that guards the realms of men. From what, do you think? Other men, or something else? We are the fire that burns against the cold – truly, one does not need to be Maester Aemon to guess at what that might mean.”

Returning to the King's Tower, they concluded that Cregan had done well. Flint hadn't committed to anything, but he'd certainly been given some food for thought.

Loras was waiting in Aegon's rooms, accompanied by one of the ugliest men he'd ever seen. Aegon had been taught that someone's looks didn't reflect on their character – but by the gods, this one made it difficult. Perhaps it was also due to the circumstances.

“This is Chett”, Loras said, nose slightly wrinkled. “A steward working in the kennels.”

“Ah, yes.” Jae leaned back against the wall. “That is why I had heard your name before. You worked for Maester Aemon before Samwell.”

Aegon thought the man looked deeply unhappy to be here, which made a fair amount of sense. “I was.”

“ _Your Grace”_ , Loras added sharply, having moved to stand by the door. “You are speaking to two princes of the realm.”

This didn't make Chett seem any happier. “Your Grace”, he repeated.

Aegon went to sit behind his desk and picked up the parchment Satin had got him; clearly very carefully torn out of the Lord Steward's ledgers. “Can you read, Chett?”

“He cannot”, Jae answered for him. “That is why I suggested to Lord Commander Mormont that his maester may have use of a different steward.”

“I see.” A grudge. Good thing Satin could read at least a little; enough to find what he'd been looking for. “We understand, Chett, that with Cregan Snow gone, you were tending to Mormont's chambers the night before his fall and subsequent death. Is this correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He wasn't quite sure about the dynamic created by only him sitting – Chett looked like he might storm out at any moment. “Ser Loras, please bring our guest a chair to sit on. This might become a longer conversation.” While Loras complied, he said: “We were wondering if anything unusual happened the night before the Lord Commander died. Was he acting strangely? Did he feel unwell?”

Chett sat, then shrugged. “Not that I can think of. Your Grace.”

“Was it particularly cold that morning?”, Jae asked. “The ice harder than on other days? The pebbles you have surely strewn would have kept him from slipping otherwise.”

“It was cold. It's always cold up here.” Chett was fiddling with his sleeve. “Sometimes you slip.”

Jae took a few steps towards him. “But it was your task to ensure that _he_ ; your Lord Commander, would not. Clearly, you failed.”

“Brother, please”, Aegon said. “No one man can be held responsible for such an accident. That it would happen at all, _and_ that Mormont would break his neck – clearly, this was an event caused by sheer misfortune.”

“Misfortune of not: This man was meant to see to the Lord Commander, and he did it so badly that he died. We should speak of this to the Lord Steward, as it _must_ have consequences.” Jae began to pace. “At best, Chett, you are a very bad steward. You should be whipped for your failure, given watch duty on the Wall every night for the next moon, and then assigned to – pray tell, what is worse than the kennels? Being responsible for every chamber pot at Castle Black?”

Chett very briefly looked scared, but then a sneer made him even uglier. “Marsh wouldn't do that. He won't do what you lot tell him to.”

“You _are_ ”, Loras threw in, “speaking to princes. Watch your tone.”

Aegon thought this was just getting interesting. “Of course, the Lord Steward should only take orders from the Lord Commander, who currently does not exist. Who did you cast your token for, Chett?”

Though he didn't have to tell them, he did, and the answer was no surprise: “Ser Alliser.”

“Because of the wildlings?”

Chett hesitated. “Yeah.”

The brothers exchanged a look. “Why don't you”, Jae asked, leaning over the back of Chett's chair, “spend the next day or two considering whether that is really the answer you would like to give to us?”

_The third vote_

The next morning brought one pleasant development: Artos Flint announced his support for Benjen Stark, while Thorne hadn't got anyone new – at least as far as they could tell from the speeches given at breakfast.

Most likely, the evening's tally would tell them that Stark had slightly increased his lead while Westwatch-by-the-Bridge and Greyguard had continued to vote for Ser Dennys Mallister, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea as well as Stonedoor retained their support for Cotter Pyke.

They kept Chett under Loras' watchful eye in the King's Tower while ensuring that his brothers thought him to be ill. If he'd been part of any sort of plot, they didn't want him to run to his co-conspirators, after all.

There was no use in being idle for the day. Before they could get to anything else, however, Aegon was handed a raven scroll that had actually come from Winterfell, though it was written by his mother. Its content made him regret that Loras and Ser Jaime were stationed in different parts of the castle, but at least, this warranted a visit to where the Lannister was guarding the wildlings.

“We have good news, ser”, he told him, and couldn't help but laugh when he saw how the knight immediately looked suspicious.

“What is it now, Your Grace?”, he asked. “While I be sent beyond the Wall? Given the glorious duty of guarding the privy?”

“Much better.” Aegon was surprised to find himself quite happy about the news. “Ser Loras is to become your brother in one more way – Lord Tyrion will wed the Lady Margaery.”

Just like the suspicion, the sheer shock on Ser Jaime's face was something to behold. “That is good, I suppose”, he concluded.

“Indeed”, Jae said while Aegon held back any comments about the fact that Mace Tyrell had likely seen this as a way to pay the smallest possible dowry. “In a few moons, you might finally become an uncle.”

Aegon found it very difficult to not laugh again, though he just about managed. It took the knight a heartbeat so say: “But I already am, Your Grace.”

 _Yes. But you are the Baratheon children's father, too._ “Of course, ser.” He patted him on the shoulder in passing.

The wildlings appeared in a foul mood, likely due to boredom. Aegon was glad when he was informed that Ser Denys Mallister had requested a meeting, as this meant that he could leave Jae to reassure them.

Like the other commanders, Mallister was housed in The Lance; Castle Black's tallest tower. “Why are you here, Your Grace?”, he asked.

“Why, to observe the choosing.” Though it was surely clear to all that the Crown had an interest in influencing the proceedings, it would be a mistake to openly admit this.

Ser Denys looked at him from under bushy eyebrows. “And what do you see? Who will be our next Lord Commander?”

Aegon had a sip of the wine he'd been offered. It was quite good; clearly from the man's private stores. “Either Benjen Stark or Alliser Thorne, it seems. I hope you will forgive me when I say that I do not see an outcome in which you win – and neither will Cotter Pyke.”

“Well, at least.” His disdain for the other man was clear. “I take it Your Grace would wish for me to withdraw my name and support Stark.”

Naturally. “We have no opinion on this, ser. The men of the Watch will make whichever choice they see fit, as they have for eight thousand years.” Or whichever the true age of the organisation was.

“Of course, of course.” Mallister clearly saw right through him. “And yet, the Iron Throne and the Night's Watch are united in their purpose. We guard the realm and the king holds it together. We do _not_ live in a time when it is questioned who should reign in King's Landing, but we do live in one when disunity between the Watch and the Crown may endanger us all.”

Hiding his smile behind another sip, Aegon memorised Ser Denys' words one by one. They'd fit perfectly into his written account of the choosing. “I could not agree more, ser. That being said, my royal father's position remains one of neutrality.”

Nodding slowly, Ser Denys swirled around his wine. “I have tried to become Lord Commander at each opportunity I was given, Your Grace, and yet I must recognise that I never will be. The only solace I have is that Cotter Pyke does not stand a chance either.” He tucked at his rather impressive beard. “On the morrow, I will announce my support for Benjen Stark, which will give him my votes, those of Greyguard, and likely the few men of Castle Black who have cast their tokens for me. I wish for you to know that I do this because Ser Alliser's pledge to defy the king is treason – and I am no traitor. Had I won this choosing, I would have heeded your father's words the same way Stark will.”

The day's final tally saw Stark at 4,115; Thorne at 3,203; Mallister at 1,153; and Pyke at 1,102 votes.

_The fourth vote_

“This is looking better every day”, Jae said while the brothers cast their tokens. They expected that by the end of the day, his uncle should have about 5,200 votes to Thorne's 3,100.

From the numbers alone, it also seemed that Benjen picked up more support from Castle Black with each round. While he appeared largely uninvolved in any scheming with the commanders, Aegon hadn't missed that he spent much time speaking to the rest of his brothers.

“It also depends on what Pyke will do”, he said. “I can hardly imagine that he will support your uncle now that Ser Denys does. I understand they hate each other.”

“Well, many people do.” Jae nodded towards Elys Farman. “Anyone from the western coast seems to detest Cotter Pyke. Perhaps his vote could hurt a candidate more than help him.”

That was a good point. “Ah, brother”, Aegon said, putting an arm around his shoulders as they made their way back to the King's Tower, “is it not wonderful to see how the Watch makes its choice free from any interference, and independently of any grudges and former allegiances?”

Jae snorted. “Yes, it is very refreshing. Truly nothing like the Red Keep.”

“Bowen Marsh was here”, Loras said by way of greeting. “He asked if we had seen Chett.”

“What did you tell him?” Aegon found it very interesting that the Lord Steward would be so concerned.

“I asked him who Chett is.” Loras glanced at the door he was guarding. “Then, he mentioned that he needed to send men to your rooms in order to tidy them. A prince needed to be kept in the greatest comfort, after all. I said there was no need as you were very satisfied with Satin's help.”

Aegon sighed. “A different wording might have been less likely to be misconstrued.”

That got him an incredulous look. “ _Misconstrued?_ Are you telling me you are _not_ bedding him?”

“Not yet, anyway.” He ignored Jae's groan. “Where is he now? We would not want for Marsh to go after him.”

Loras simply opened the door. He'd been in a strange mood ever since he'd heard about his sister's betrothal.

Inside Aegon's study, Satin and Chett were sitting on opposite sides of the room, both glowering at each other.

“Now, Chett”, Jae said after they'd bid Satin to wait in Aegon's bedchamber. “You have had some time to think.”

“Don't know what I should've been thinking about”, the man said. “Your Grace.”

Aegon took his place behind his desk again. “About what you _want._ ” He was relatively confident that Chett was not, in fact, that stupid.

“To tell you the truth, Chett”, Jae said, “we think that you are the reason the Old Bear is dead. And considering who we are, we could easily convince many others that you killed him. On purpose.” Chett's eyes narrowed at that. “That would mean you won't live to see the end of the week.”

“However.” The man's head spun around to Aegon. “If it were to emerge that you did not act alone; if you were to name the ones who _made_ you act – then we could ensure that it merely looks as if you are punished, when really you are not. How would you feel about exile? Somewhere nice and warm, perhaps? We could easily set you up in a little manse in the Free Cities.”

This was, of course, not a real option. A lowborn man convicted of murder had only one way of saving his head, and that was to join the Watch. Aegon hoped Chett would be too enticed by the offer to consider this fact.

He did seem suspicious. “How would that work?”, he asked. “If I say I did it because Marsh said I'd get a better assignment, you'll have to have me killed.”

And here they were. “So that is what happened? Bowen Marsh told you to kill the Lord Commander?”

They could watch the exact moment that his mistake dawned on him. “I didn't say that”, he claimed, voice flat and eyes darting to the door. Loras stepped in front of it.

“I think you did.” Jae built himself up before him. “So now you can either lose that ugly head of yours, or you can tell us every little detail and repeat it all before your brothers when we tell you to.”

“So it was really him?” Despite the fact that there was other furniture to choose from, Satin had clearly been spending the time lying on Aegon's bed together with several of his parchments. “I always thought Chett was especially nasty.”

Aegon sat down on the bed, tempted to run his hand first through Satin's curls (quite like Rhae's hair, in fact) and then further down his body. He was sure he _knew_ what he was doing by lying there like that. “You have been listening in, I see. And you are looking through my writings without permission.”

“Well, I can hardly read them. Your Grace uses some big words.”

Aegon could hear the coquettish conversation unfolding in his head: _You are lying on my bed as well. – I am, my prince. So many transgressions. It appears you must punish me_. And so on, and so forth.

“Big words are required of a prince, I believe. These are my accounts of the events unfolding as we speak, and I intend for them to be made part of the histories. Why let a maester tell my story?”

Satin smiled. “I've met many maesters, and I agree. Most of them don't really like your family.”

 _Well, the feeling is mutual_ , he almost said. Then he stared at Satin for a heartbeat and shook his head. “You know, you are exceptionally good at drawing a man into conversation.”

“That is half a whore's work.” _Do you want to see the other half?_ , his smirk asked.

Aegon wasn't sure what was holding him back. One word, one touch would be enough... “Why are you here?”, he asked instead. He had the impulse to rise from the bed but didn't, because really, it was his and this Night's Watch's steward lying on it shouldn't chase him away. “At the Wall, I mean.”

“It is somewhat frowned upon to ask this.”

Aegon shot him a look. “Do not forget who you are speaking to. Answer.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Satin quickly lost much of his teasing demeanour. “I chose to come. A man needs a purpose in life, and while I'm very good at it, mine isn't pleasuring others.”

Aegon laid back on the bed, looking up at the wooden beams holding the ceiling together. “Your chances of dying a gruesome death and then coming back to life as a mindless slave would have been much lower in Oldtown.”

There was a snort. “Depends on how you see it.”

He supposed that was fair.

He sent Satin away soon after that, preferring to spend some time staring at the ceiling by himself and then writing down the day's events. When the counting was done in the evening, Stark had 5,268 votes; Thorne 3,153; and Cotter Pyke 1,152.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denys Mallister is commander of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge instead of the Shadow Tower because that's the westernmost castle now, with all of them being in use.


	35. The Choosing III

_The fifth vote_

_Jaehaerys_

On what could've been the last day of voting if everyone involved hadn't insisted on drawing things out, they got news they had expected, but still didn't like to hear: Cotter Pyke had withdrawn his candidacy, and now threw his support behind Ser Alliser Thorne.

On the bright side, they later heard a rumour that Elys Farman had voted for Benjen, though he hadn't announced this in public.

Chett, meanwhile, was still in Aegon's rooms and pondering his fate. They left him to it and used the day to make several of their allies speak to other commanders.

In the meantime, they went to stand atop the Wall, looking south this time. The landscape stretched endlessly before them; league after league of forests and roads and villages that might very well be destroyed if they failed.

And somewhere in the distance, he knew there had to be Winterfell, though the wolfswood kept them from seeing it. “I wonder how the women are doing”, Jaehaerys said.

Elia's message informing them of the Lannister-Tyrell betrothal hadn't gone into much detail. “Well, I would assume”, Aegon said. “Else we would have heard of it.”

That much was clear, but that wasn't his point. “I miss Dany.” Jaehaerys didn't know _why_ it felt strange to say it.

“Obviously. She _is_ your wife.” His brother seemed unperturbed.

Leaning against the icy balustrade, Jaehaerys struggled to express or even understand what he was thinking. Thinking? Feeling, more like. “Exactly. She was my wife for one night and then I left. Should we not be with them?” Then he shook his head. “Gods, I must sound like a fool. I _know_ why we are here, but I do not like it.”

The North below them contained, by Marwyn's estimate, one million men and women they would have to save from one of the worst fates imaginable – and Jaehaerys would rather be with Dany _(his wife)_ than do what he had to in order to fulfil this purpose. “You are right”, Aegon said. “You are _supposed_ to miss her, you know?”

Well, maybe. At the very least, he knew that he was here doing what he had to even though he'd rather be with her. “Yes. But I never really have; not like this.” He pinched his nose and looked up to the sky, noticing something: “Am I imagining it or is it much darker now than it was a few days ago?”

Aegon seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. It is hard to tell.”

“Colder, too.” Jaehaerys nodded towards the contraption that would see them back to the ground. “Gods, this place is making me think too much.”

They crossed the courtyard, entered the King's Tower, went up the stairs and – found Loras standing in front of Aegon's room with a man kneeling before him, the tip of his sword pressed against his throat, while another was bleeding out on the floor.

Both princes immediately drew their own blades; not that there was any danger still around.

“Seven hells”, Loras sighed, taking the sword away. “My arm was starting to grow tired.” Upon closer inspection, they could see that the blood under the dead man's (very large) body was far from fresh.

“What happened?”, Jaehaerys asked, and the man on his knees immediately began to plead.

“Nothing, m'lord – Your Grace – me and Small Paul just meant to tidy the rooms -”

He shook his head, remembering that face. “I have seen you before. Lark, is it not? I thought you were a ranger, not a steward.”

“Well, whatever he is”, Loras seemed annoyed, “I found him and the other one trying to break into Aegon's rooms after I came back from a piss. They said they were _fixing the door_. Then they attacked me with daggers that they surely needed in order to”, he cocked his head, “fix a door?”

“I see.” His brother went to tower over the kneeling man. “What did you mean to do? And do not say it was cleaning my rooms.”

The man looked down at his boots, silent. After a tense, quiet moment, Aegon announced a decision: “That is enough, now. Brother, please go and tell the entire castle to convene in the courtyard.”

“Chett”, Aegon said, his voice loud and clear as their father's in the throne room, “tell your brothers what you told us.”

There was a pause. They were surrounded by the men of the Watch, with the commanders and high officers standing in their own group to the side – which included Benjen, Alliser Thorne, and Bowen Marsh. Jaehaerys was happy to note that the latter looked very uneasy; likely because he knew exactly what would come.

Chett, standing alone in the middle of it all, said: “I killed the Lord Commander.”

The reaction came with a delay, but when it did, it was powerful. It sounded like near a thousand men had been punched in the stomach at once.

Aegon raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “How?”, he asked. “And why?”

Chett repeated the story just as he'd first told it to them. “I was assigned to his quarters that night”, he said. “I didn't throw gravel on those stairs because I wanted him to slip. When he left his rooms in the morning, he didn't – so I pushed him. He fell right down, broke his neck, and didn't move no more.”

The collective anger that followed these words was almost palpable, with shouts erupting and someone throwing snow and stones at Chett's face. Benjen was the one who quelled it, stepping forward. “Brothers! I understand your wrath. I _feel_ it. But let this man keep speaking so we may know why he did this. Tell us, Chett – why did you kill your own Lord Commander?”

This was just about enough to calm the men. “I was told to, m'lord”, Chett said. The abject horror on Bowen Marsh's face was very satisfying to see. “He said that when Mormont is gone, I'll get a better assignment. I fucking _hate_ the kennels.”

A loud groan went through the crowd. “Who said this?”, Aegon asked, and Chett dealt the final blow.

“The Lord Steward did. Bowen Marsh.”

These words seemed to shake the earth under their feet. “What?”, Marsh himself cried, stepping forward and pointing and accusing finger at Chett. “Slander!”

“Is it?”, Aegon asked. “Because -” There was no chance to speak with the pure rage brewing amongst the black brothers, and it took Benjen to calm them once more. Only when they did could his brother continue. “Is it truly slander, my lord? Because this very afternoon, two men came to break into my quarters, where Chett was being held. When they were caught, they attacked Ser Loras Tyrell; a knight of the Kingsguard. I believe they are known as Small Paul and Lark the Sisterman.” Aegon made a gesture to keep the anger from erupting once more. “Small Paul is dead. Lark, meanwhile, told us that he was sent by the Lord Steward to kill Chett, so he would not speak and tell of who enticed him to treason.”

Jaehaerys watched as Loras dragged the man towards Chett and gave him a kick for good measure. Bowen Marsh seemed as if he might be sick, especially since almost all the other high officers looked as if they were about to gut him. This was when Ser Alliser stepped forward. “Calm down!”, he shouted. “Calm down, everyone. Are we truly going to believe these two? Common criminals who want to slander the Lord Steward?”

Jaehaerys realised that there was one issue here: There wasn't anyone to make a decision. He clearly wasn't the only one to grasp this, as Uncle Benjen, too, raised his voice. “Whether we believe them or not”, he said, and this quieted the men much more effectively, “will be up to the next Lord Commander. I say that until one is found, we lock them away – including the Lord Steward, who will be given the opportunity to prove his innocence at a trial. Do the commanders agree?”

This suggestion, clearly, was so reasonable that nobody took issue.

Though no-one cared very much, Aemon still had to give the tally at the end of the day. Benjen stood at 5,758 votes and Thorne at 3,815. Considering that the tokens had been cast before the afternoon's revelations, both Jaehaerys and his brother expected the next day to finally resolve it all and let them get on with what actually mattered.

_The sixth vote_

Only one more commander switched his allegiance from Thorne to Benjen the next morning, but Jaehaerys had the impression that the votes of Castle Black would look much more uneven by the end, as the events of the previous day should have led to an overwhelming majority for his uncle – after all, everyone knew about Bowen Marsh's support of Thorne.

“Small Paul is dead. Chett, Marsh, and Lark are disqualified from voting”, Aegon pointed out while they watched one man after the other enter an area between wooden screens that would keep the others from seeing who they chose. “This should very slightly affect the number of votes required.”

“It does”, Samwell Tarly said cheerfully, patting Jaehaerys on the shoulder with one hand and slipping a ring of keys into his cloak with the other. “Not that it matters, truly. Now excuse me, Your Graces; I must cast my token.”

He walked off with a spring in his step, and Jaehaerys leaned in closer to his brother. “We should do it now while they are busy.”

Aegon saw the sense in that, and so they stole away, towards the ice cells. They weren't guarded at this time – after all, where would the prisoners run?

“Perhaps we should have told Loras or Ser Jaime to do it”, he whispered while they made their way through the freezing tunnels. “Nobody has been watching their whereabouts.”

Aegon raised his eyebrows. “And besmirch their knightly honour? I never knew you to be opposed to getting your hands dirty.”

He wasn't; Jaehaerys just truly thought that there might have been a benefit in being seen somewhere else while this took place. Not that anyone would seriously suspect them, and if they did, there would be nothing they could do. “We are both knights as well”, he said, once more surprising himself with that fact.

Aegon knew just how absurd he found it. “We are princes first.” That was true.

The ice cells were a maze, though a well-maintained one – they mostly served for storage, and so they walked past mountains of food, weapons, black-dyed cloth, and vast reserves of dragonglass. They found Marsh first, quickly stealing past his cell before he noticed. Then they discovered Lark, apparently sleeping, and slid the dagger he'd used to attack Loras through the bars.

Chett was happy enough to see them. “I thought you'd come at night”, he said, and Jaehaerys shushed him.

“They are voting right now. No better time.” It took him a few tries until he found the right keys, especially as he did his best to avoid them making too much sound.

“How do we get out of Castle Black?”, Chett whispered. He was under the impression that he'd somehow be brought all the way to Eastwatch, and then be put on a ship to – what had they told him again? Jaehaerys couldn't remember if it was Pentos or Braavos. He also doubted Chett knew the difference.

“Tunnels”, Aegon said when he stepped out of the cell. “But we need you to do something first.”

Chett stared at him. “What now? I've done enough.”

Jaehaerys grabbed him by the collar and pressed the second dagger against his neck. “We decide when you have done enough.” Then he put the dagger into his hand and gave him a shove. Though confused and, most likely, scared, Chett followed them to Lark's cell.

The man only woke when they opened the door and told Chett to kill him. The ensuing fight was short and bloody – Lark had barely woken, but noticed his dagger before Chett did and surprised him with it. The latter still won; managing to open Lark's throat, but was clearly weakened by the blade sticking in his side.

The ice cells made blood look particularly dramatic, Jaehaerys thought when he walked towards him, fear and incomprehension on his boil-covered face. The prince pulled the dagger out and then stuck it back; right into Chett's heart.

News of the deadly fight between the two quickly spread through the castle. Theories abounded and two ultimately prevailed: Either there was something wrong with the locks on the cells, or the conspiracy that had led to Mormont's death ran deeper than the men they'd already caught.

The princes returned the keys to Sam and made very clear to him that if he ever spoke about this to anyone, even Aemon, they'd feed him to a dragon.

And then it was the evening, and thus time for the results. Jaehaerys thought that if the matter was not done with tonight, he might very well just throw Thorne off the Wall in order to speed everything up.

“Ser Alliser”, Aemon announced, “gained three thousand and twenty-five votes. Benjen Stark, six thousand five hundred and fourty-four.” Jaehaerys suddenly felt much lighter – that was enough. “With more than two-thirds of all tokens cast for him, Benjen Stark is the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.”

He wasn't the only one to be relieved. As much as he'd love to offer congratulations, his supposed neutrality meant that he couldn't, and so it was for him and Aegon to watch the brothers crowd Benjen from afar. “Well, this took less than a week”, Aegon said, satisfied. “Let us just hope we have not sown too much discord and mistrust within the Watch.”

Jaehaerys groaned. “They have better things to do than squabble. I trust Benjen to handle the rest.”

While it was far from clear at this stage whether this would happen or not, the mood that night was decidedly merry. Even some of those who'd preferred Thorne appeared relieved that things had been resolved rather quickly, and all the dining halls of Castle Black soon filled with men drinking and feasting.

“Your lady mother will be glad”, Jaehaerys told his cousin later on in the Shieldhall. “Along with everyone else, that is.”

“Are you sure?” Creg was in high spirits, and the horn of ale in his hands near empty for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. “She doesn't really like any of the Starks save for my lord father.”

The prince cast his eye over the festivities, wishing everyone would be training and making weapons instead. “She likes you, and she thinks that Uncle Benjen being Lord Commander is good for your prospects.”

While he generally agreed, Jaehaerys wasn't sure if this would matter at all. If the Wall was to fall, then what would be the point in the Watch? “It won't matter”, Creg said. “He'd never give me any position just because I'm his nephew. We're all black brothers, here; all the same, no matter who our family is.”

 _Do you really believe that?_ , he almost asked. His Stark name had surely helped their uncle tremendously, and it was no coincidence that no lowborn man had been seriously considered. “A fine idea”, he said instead, watching Aegon speak with Loras and Satin and – realising that a few people in this castle likely still didn't know what had happened. “Has anyone told the free folk yet?”

It didn't appear so. “You look bored”, he told Ser Jaime, still standing guard in front of their room.

The knight raised an eyebrow. “I am used to it. Your Grace looks drunk.”

Perhaps a little. “It is over”, Jaehaerys said, leaning against the door for a moment and feeling the freezing air against his ale-warmed skin. “They chose my uncle.”

“Oh, good. Will they”, Ser Jaime shot a look at the door, “be given freedom of the castle?”

“Yes”, he said, though Benjen hadn't broached the topic at all. “I hope you do not resent having been given this task, ser. There has been a fair amount of murder at Castle Black, and the threat of your sword may have been the only thing keeping the conspirators away.”

The knight shrugged. “Much of the life of a Kingsguard revolves around standing by doors, Your Grace. Perhaps it should be added to the vows.”

He had a point. Jaehaerys knocked out of curtesy before opening the door, and was greeted by several heads shooting up from their bedrolls.

Oh, yes. It was quite late at night. “I bring good news”, he announced to their accusing eyes. “My uncle is Lord Commander.”

“So we can go outside?” Hearing Ygritte's sleepy voice made him remember their brief dalliance, and he by now thought it strange that it had ever happened.

“Perhaps not tonight”, he admitted. “But I thought you should know. Things will be better for all of you from tomorrow onwards. Sleep well.”

Suddenly not so sure why he'd considered it terribly urgent to tell them, Jaehaerys decided that he, too, should get some rest. Once he reached the King's Tower, he was surprised to find Loras on the way to the small cell where he slept. “Has Aegon gone to bed already?”

“Yes, but not alone”, Loras replied. “I saw him all but devour that steward when I shut the door behind them.”

It had only been a matter of time, he supposed. Jaehaerys was about to simply bid him a good night, but found he still had something to say: “What do you think is more strange? That Aegon will bed whoever he comes across when Rhae is absent, or that I could not fathom the thought?” Anymore, at least.

He thought there'd be a chance that Loras would simply shrug him off, but he actually appeared to consider the question. “I do not think one is more strange than the other. That being said, I could not do what he does, even though there are near a thousand men in this castle.”

Why Loras was so in love with Renly Baratheon of all people was a mystery to him. “You will be glad to know that unless our king has lost his mind, all the realm's armies and men will soon be with us, and that should include your Ser Renly.”

Jaehaerys thought he looked sad, then. “That makes no matter.” Loras didn't sound convinced. “I did not swear my vows to him, after all.”

First, the prince was glad that he'd said no vows of that sort. Then, he remembered where he was, and why, and who wasn't with him, and realised that he hadn't even been given the choice to swear anything.


	36. The Shadow I

_Winterfell, the next day_

_Rhaenys_

“This is beginning to look like the Red Keep”, Alarra said, sounding quite happy. “Uncle Brandon must be losing his mind.”

The watched from a covered bridge as yet another slew of arrivals from the south entered through the East Gate. These were the people Rhaenys had been looking forward to seeing the most – Oberyn and his four eldest daughters. Brandon Stark didn't look like his mind was in any danger of being lost as he stood there to greet them; a giant in a pile of furs shouting something up to Oberyn on his horse.

“I do not believe it is your uncle who worries much”, Dany said. “But Lady Catelyn looks sick with stress.”

Alarra rested her elbows on the balustrade, watching as Oberyn and Lord Stark greeted each other with all the requisite bravado. “I do not envy her. To be the Lady of Winterfell is a great task, especially now that the whole court is here. I can only hope she will teach me all she knows.”

Rhaenys saw Obara and Nymeria dismount and waved down, though she was more interested in the red-and-orange wheelhouse coming in behind them; the warm colours a welcome sight in all this white and grey. “You sound very certain you _will_ be Lady of Winterfell”, Dany said.

Alarra gave a little gasp. “Did I – forgive me; I clearly misspoke. What I meant of course is that _if_ I _was_ to be in that position -”

Below, Tyene emerged from the wheelhouse, dressed in the daintiest fur cloak any seamstress could have possibly created. Dany burst out laughing. “Alarra, please. If you wish to tell us that you are betrothed, you can merely say so.”

“I did not.” Rhaenys watched as Lord Stark bowed down to about half his size so he could kiss Tyene's hand. “Because if this was something that had been decided upon, I would not yet be free to tell you. So I told you nothing.”

And then, finally, wearing a hat with colourful feathers because she would never forego the opportunity to reference her mother: Sarella. Rhaenys gathered her numerous layers of coats and skirts and hurried down the stairs.

“Uncle”, she said quickly, darting past Oberyn, “and everyone. Good to see you.” Sarella was still taking in her surroundings by the time Rhaenys grabbed her hand. “Come.”

Marwyn as well as Melisandre had been put up in the otherwise abandoned First Keep, which suited everyone as it kept them out of sight. Rhaenys had spent much of the last fortnight under the flicker of Melisandre's nightfires and the glass candle's otherworldly glow – trying to see past the Wall (no chance), looking for Euron (traces here and there, and the occasional glimpse of his black eye staring furiously), and discussing their options. They'd also watched Castle Black, of course, which had enabled her to bring everyone the happy news of Benjen Stark's choosing last night. She had then seen the celebrations as well as her husband in bed with a very pretty young man (Rhaenys had had to swiftly return to her rooms, then, to take care of the pang of lust it had given her).

“Sarella”, Marwyn said when they entered his makeshift study, actually standing to greet her and _smiling_ , because she seemed to be the only person in existence he liked. “Finally.”

She smiled back. “Archmaester. And you, my lady, are... ?”

“This is Melisandre”, Rhaenys explained while the red woman, as some would call her, stared at her cousin. “A priestess of the Lord of Light.”

“I had guessed.” Sarella took off her feathered hat and worked on her gloves, looking over the table Marwyn was using as a desk. “What is so urgent that you will not even let me settle in?”

Rhaenys shed one of her layers of cloaks and sat. “Yes, yes; I hope you had a good journey and you must be so exhausted – you can imagine that I went through the courtesies if you would like. But we have something to discuss with you, and it is this.”

Sarella fell into a chair to take the jar she handed to her. It was filled with short, black hairs. “Who is it from?”

“A man named Tōma”, Marwyn explained. “Euron Greyjoy's son, now dead.”

A slow smile spread across her cousin's face. “I see. How did – by the gods, I know nothing of what happened. And you will not even let me speak to Aegon!” She put the jar back on the table to cross her arms and glare at Rhaenys. “I must somehow make amends for not saving him.”

She was sick of needing to reassure everyone of their innocence in his capture. “Aegon and Jae are at the Wall. If you had done anything, you would have been lucky to be killed. One shudders to think of what might have befallen you on the _Silence._ ”

While Rhaenys would have been happy to be done with the topic then and there, Sarella of all people wouldn't let her get away with not sharing every detail, and so she told her. Halfway through, her cousin had begun to take notes. “Three rituals to free Aegon – of course, such a number was especially powerful. Where is Lord Reed now?”

“Still in his swamp.” She would've loved for him to come. “Now, we have been considering what we could do with this hair.”

Sarella hummed as she studied the jar. “There is quite a lot of it, meaning we do not need to constrain ourselves to one option. We could always burn it, or bury it... Throw it in a stream or pond to make him drown; throw it off the castle walls; feed it to an animal and then kill it – truly, the possibilities are endless. Of course, any of that would need to be backed up by the necessary sacrifice.”

“We considered leeches”, Marwyn said. This had been Melisandre's suggestion. “Fill them with king's blood and burn them alongside the hair.”

“There is that possibility”, the priestess said. “And another. The shadow.”

Ah, yes. “There is the option”, Rhaenys explained, “for the Lady Melisandre to birth a shadow that would do her bidding. However, there are two problems – firstly, he needs to be sired by a man. Secondly, it may be difficult to locate Euron, though the hair can help us with that.”

Sarella was intrigued. “What is the problem, then?”, she asked, looking at Marwyn. “If we need a man, we have one. The archmaester has never been above this sort of thing.”

“True”, he said, clearly not bothered. “Apparently, however -”

“He lacks fire.” Melisandre didn't believe in mincing words. “He is old, and his soul is corrupted.”

Her cousin shrugged. “Then there are many more men in this castle alone. Surely, it cannot be too difficult for you to find one to bed. Or do they need to know?”

“They do”, Rhaenys explained. “That is the issue. If Aegon was present, I am quite certain that he would be a willing participant, but he is not. As far as other men who can know about this are concerned, there is only my father.” She didn't need to explain that he would refuse.

Sarella understood. “Or mine. Well, as long as he is deemed sufficiently young and his soul not corrupted – which I cannot guarantee – then I would not think that he would see any issue in participating.”

That was what she had thought.

“You are asking me to”, Oberyn summarised, “sire a child on your red priestess so she may birth a shadow to do her bidding?”

They were in the king's chambers. Her father was massaging his temples, Lyanna was playing with her pouch of runes, Dany had leaned back on her chair and raised her eyebrows, and her mother looked concerned. “Yes”, Rhaenys said.

Oberyn chuckled. “Very well, even though Ellaria will be upset that she could not witness it. Will this pose any danger for my health?”

“It might”, Sarella said. “Melisandre keeps speaking of a man's ‘fires’, though I am not sure as to what this means. She judges you to have enough of it to survive, however, even if you may be weakened for a while.”

“I would say so.” Oberyn grinned, but her mother clearly wasn't in favour.

“This is too dangerous”, she said. “What if Melisandre is wrong and it _does_ kill him? Overall, we know little to nothing about this rite, and shadowbinding is a dangerous art in itself.”

“I appreciate your concern”, Oberyn didn't sound genuine, “but you know I have survived worse than that.”

A soft clatter was heard as Lyanna emptied her runes onto the table, closed her eyes, and picked one at random. “Well”, she said, “Magnar. That solved nothing. ”

All eyes turned to the king, who looked to Rhaenys in turn. “You have done foolish things in the past, and Melisandre has helped you then. Tell me why I should allow this.”

Rhaenys supposed she'd deserved that. “Melisandre believes that Euron is, as she would say, one of the Great Other's most loyal servants, and must be destroyed. I am convinced that she means this. And Marwyn agrees.”

She thought it likely that the latter argument held more weight in her father's eyes. “Oberyn, I will not ask to do this. You would have our gratitude if you agreed, however.”

Her uncle snorted. “I see. Well, tell your priestess that I am ready whenever she is.”

Though her mother clearly wasn't thrilled, neither she nor anyone else voiced any opposition. “Rhaenys remains here, then”, the king announced. “Now that Benjen has been chosen, I must go to Castle Black. Dany, you will take me on the morrow.”

As always, they supped with the Starks and their ever-growing number of guests. Rhaenys thought the mood was strangely merry among their hosts – Lady Catelyn was smiling a lot, Lord Eddard laughed loudly from time to time, Sansa was beaming, and Torrhen and Alarra exchanged the occasional meaningful look.

Halfway through, her mother leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Ashara told me that Torrhen and Alarra are betrothed.”

Oh, yes. She'd known that. “Alarra told us, too”, she whispered back. “Indirectly.”

The queen gave her a reproachful look. “And you did not think to tell me?”, she asked more loudly, as everyone else was clearly embroiled in their own conversations.

“I thought you would know from Ashara.” Rhaenys picked at her venison stew, thinking that the Dornish were likely appalled by the food. “And you did.”

“I did.” She speared a turnip, then added: “I hope you are right about Oberyn.”

So did Rhaenys. “He will be fine, Mother. Besides, he is a grown man and it was his own decision.” The ritual would take place the same night.

“Still.” The queen was staring at the turnip. “He has a tendency for recklessness that somehow never mellowed with age.”

Rhaenys could understand her worry. “He knows what he is doing. And not even Sarella believes it to be a bad idea.”

The Sand Snakes were sitting at one of the lower benches, which wasn't (only) due to their lack of legitimacy – Winterfell by now held too many high-ranking guests to give a place at the high table to anyone but the Starks and the royal family.

There was the entirety of the small council, with Lord Connington proudly brandishing his new chain of office as Hand of the King. Edmure Tully had come, too, while Asha Greyjoy would soon be on her way and Lord Lannister was meant to come after his wedding, alongside even more Tyrells. They had even brought little Monterys Velaryon from the capital; nominally Aegon's page.

“And how will you find Euron?”, the queen asked. “Please tell me that this, at least, will be a harmless rite.”

In truth, they hadn't yet decided. “We will attempt to keep it so.”

“So when is the wedding?”, Nymeria asked after the supper had concluded, many guests had retired to their rooms, and they had found themselves a corner at one of the lower tables.

Alarra feigned ignorance. “Which wedding?”

“Yours!” Obara had her feet on the table and was balancing her chair on its hind legs. “We heard from a maid. Everyone knows.”

Groaning, Alarra picked up her cup. “At least you two did not tell”, she said with a glance at Dany and Rhaenys.

“We told nobody”, Rhaenys said while Dany refilled all cups. “I did not even tell my mother, and she was not happy about that when she told me.”

“How did she -” Alarra interrupted herself. “From _my_ mother, of course. Gods, this family truly cannot keep a secret for even a day.”

“So then she would have told Father”, Tyene concluded. “Where is he, anyway? He all but disappeared as soon as he had emptied his plate.”

So they didn't know, at least not yet. “He is with Marwyn”, Sarella said. Rhaenys assumed that she would've told them the truth if Alarra hadn't been there.

This caused groans all around. “I'd swear they fucked, if I didn't know what kind of men he likes.” Obara threw back her head to empty her cup.

“Many are fascinated by the archmaester”, Dany said. “Including Rhaegar, and I am certain that the thought of bedding another man has never even entered his mind.”

Much to Lord Connington's despair. “Ah, yes.” Nymeria was smiling. “Our good king, who appears so regal and untouchable he may as well be chaste like Baelor the Blessed – it is almost enough to make you forget he has two wives.”

Rhaenys was offended. “My royal father has a _much_ more interesting understanding of the Faith than Baelor the Blessed.”

Sarella nodded to that, and Tyene looked to Alarra. “Now that my lady knows that we know about your betrothal, we should offer our congratulations. And the question remains: When _is_ the wedding to take place?”

“I do not know.” Alarra stared into her cup. “It all only happened today. I was called into Uncle Brandon's solar and everyone was there, and then they told us. Torrhen had not known either.” Her mouth twitched, and then stretched into a wide grin. “I will be Lady of Winterfell! For better or worse.”

“You do not look unhappy”, Dany pointed out. “And you can always come south to visit.”

“Or bring the south here”, Nymeria added. “If you wish for Dornish company, we can surely arrange – oh, look who it is. The Sword of the Morning himself.”

Ser Arthur was coming towards them, which always meant it had to be something important. Then again, he didn't seem particularly hurried. “Uncle”, Alarra said by way of greeting.

“My congratulations”, he replied. “A good match. Princess – Rhaenys, that is – and Sarella, you are needed in the archmaester's study.”

Her father was with Marwyn, though Oberyn and Melisandre were not; clearly still occupied (Rhaenys would have _loved_ to know the details of this ritual, but the priestess could be disappointingly tight-lipped). “Lyanna is in the godswood.” The king was studying the jar of Tōma's hair. “The old gods may or may not be able to tell her anything. Melisandre said she will be able to birth the shadow quickly, and as the moon is full tonight, this should be a good time to look for Euron.”

“I brought black bark”, Marwyn added. “Burn it with sandalwood and bergamot and the son's hair; use quicksilver, amethyst, and crow's feathers – a simple invocation of the Crone, but it should do it on a night such as this.”

Rhaenys looked to the items he had mentioned, all laid out on the table. “It served me well enough when we had first heard of him; back in the sept. There _is_ a sept at Winterfell, is there not?” She almost hoped the answer would be no, as so much of the southern nobility was now here that an actual service might take place.

“Yes“, the king said. “Lord Brandon had it built for the Lady Catelyn. We will remain here, however; we do not enjoy the same privacy as in the Red Keep.”

Sarella had walked around the table to pick up a piece of black bark; stemming from the same trees whose leaves produced shade of the evening. “Will you do it?”, she asked Rhaenys.

“Of course.” She hadn't thought that it might be anyone else.

They got to work: Her father helped Marwyn move the table and draw the sigil of the Crone onto the ground in purple chalk. Sarella threw the herbs into the fire and Rhaenys breathed in deep, sitting down in the middle of the sigil with the other items in her hands and listening to the others' chants.

Tōma's hair added an unpleasant note to the smells, and she focused on it; on the stench that lay beneath the obvious stink of burning hair and pointed to the much more rotten nature of the man she was looking for. She heard her own father's voice in the incantation, so much more melodious than Marwyn's or Sarella's (or anyone else's), and briefly let herself be astonished by Euron's hubris.

Then the black bark truly took effect and She became the Crone; the Wise Lady. She saw Tōma's body rotting in the soil, and how he'd died as Aegon had fought him, and the cruel eyes that stared up at her brother while they wrestled on that beach – it was not difficult to follow them to a longship docked by an island; one ship of a pair.

She looked and saw: It was one of many small islands, forming a chain. She wanted to laugh.

There was the Crow's Eye, currently on the deck of his ship and cutting out a Tyroshi's tongue. The man bowed before him even as blood spluttered out of his mouth – and then Euron looked up, first confused, then straight _at_ Her.

“Two black eyes”, he said at the air, and none of his crew reacted as if this was a strange thing to do. “Watching me. They will still be mine one day.”

 _Of course_ , She replied, not sure if he'd hear Her. _That seems likely. The Stepstones, truly? You once called yourself a king, but you really are nothing but a washed-up pirate_.

There was clear anger in his eyes as he went to the next man after the Tyroshi, who obediently opened his mouth. “And yet, your father fears me, else you would not have come to spy.”

Fear was the wrong word. _Oh, we are terrified. How could we ever withstand two ships and a dragon horn that does not work?_

Instead of cutting out his tongue, Euron rammed his knife deep down the man's throat, then seemed annoyed as he collapsed before him. _Run and hide, Crow's Eye_ , Rhaenys said. _Your end is coming, and the Stepstones are so close._


	37. The Free Folk II

_By the Wall_

_Daenerys_

The wildling camp was vast and busy, though everyone who saw them laid down their work as they rode past. Dany spotted young men honing their weapons; old crones carving runes by campfires; children running and shouting – an entire people was here, waiting to be let past an insurmountable barrier so they would not be slaughtered. It boggled her mind that this still had not happened.

As Jae had told them, Mance Rayder was not, at first glance, a very imposing man. Accordingly, they had foregone most finery and her brother was not even wearing his crown when they met him – Rhaegar, Aegon, Jae, herself, as well as Ser Arthur and Ser Andrew.

He was with an earless man (the Magnar of Thenn, from what Jae had said) and a very beautiful woman distributing ale, who disappeared immediately after.

“The king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men”, Mance Rayder said, “or so you style yourself.”

Rhaegar smiled faintly. “Quite a few people call me thus. Do you take issue?”

“There are a hundred-thousand of the First Men in this camp, and you're not their king.”

“Not yet.” He looked to Aegon. “You have spent the last several weeks staring down from the Wall, from what I heard.” And bedding handsome young stewards, apparently. “Do you believe that there are a hundred-thousand?”

Aegon inclined his head. “Perhaps there were, but we know that the Others have been reducing their number. Not quite a hundred-thousand anymore, I should say.”

“And why is that?” Rhaegar looked straight at the King-Beyond-the-Wall. “It is because you dither and make excuses instead of simply accepting my terms, which will not change. I believe they are quite reasonable, too – any people that were to enter the realm would need to recognise its rightful king and abide by the laws of the land.”

Though she had expected more bluster, Mance Rayder simply sighed. “As I've tried to make clear to your sons – I'm not against your proposal as such. But I need something so I can convince my people.”

“And what would that be?”, Rhaegar asked, and a part of Dany hoped that Rayder might suggest a duel, as Jae had said that this was how he gained the allegiance of many other wildling leaders. She thought it likely that Rayder would purposefully lose in such a case, but the main reason she wanted him to suggest it was so she could see the look on Rhaegar's face. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time.

But Mance Rayder sighed again, leaning back. “Displays of good will. Bring us food and supplies; show my people that yours aren't the monsters they think them to be. And since you have _guests_ of ours, a few of yours on our side wouldn't hurt.”

Rhaegar raised his eyebrows. “And for how long is this to go on? Every day lost hurts you, and by extension all of us.”

“I'd suggest a lifetime if we had it, but now – two moons? Just enough for everyone to notice that life _is_ better with more food and firewood, and for the leaders to get to know our guests.”

Dany thought this wasn't the worst idea, overall. “One moon”, Rhaegar said. “And even that is too much. I would most like for you to come today.”

“So would I.” Rayder sipped on his ale. Dany had tasted hers very carefully, having heard from Jae that it wasn't good at all. She didn't think it terrible, either. “One and a half.”

Rhaegar very briefly paused, then said: “Good. Five-and-fourty days, to be exact; not one more nor one less.”

Rayder was puzzled. “Why?”

“It is divisible by three”, Rhaegar said, as if that explained anything.

When the wildlings were still visibly confused, Jae groaned. “Please just accept it.”

“Fine.” Mance Rayder shrugged. “Five-and-forty days beginning – tomorrow? Will the Watch give us the supplies this quickly, or do you need to bring them from further south?”

They hadn't even talked about the choosing yet, Dany realised. Rhaegar nodded. “The Watch is receiving large amounts from the south. The castles nearby have enough to feed you many times over, and Benjen Stark was chosen as Lord Commander.”

“Oh, good.” Rayder looked to Aegon and Jae. “Did you find out who killed the Old Bear?”

Dany had barely heard the story herself – they'd ridden our beyond the Wall very soon after arriving at Castle Black. “It was Bowen Marsh”, Jae said, much to Mance Rayder's astonishment.

“Didn't think he had it in him. Is he dead yet?”

Jae shook his head. “He will be tried soon.”

Rayder shrugged. “Good as dead, then. Who can you offer us as a guest?”

That was a good question, considering that they could hardly just hand out the children of nearby northern nobles. “You can have Cregan Snow”, Rhaegar said, earning him a glare from Jae. “He is Lord Stark's son and the Lord Commander's nephew, after all. Beyond that – who do you want?”

They could've guessed: “One of your family.”

They could've predicted that much, and the solution was obvious. Her husband's head was already I his hands. “Jaehaerys”, Rhaegar said, sounding apologetic, “you know the free folk best. It only makes sense for it to be you.”

He straightened himself, shaking his head. “I was”, he said, “wed for _one_ night before we left for Castle Black, and now I will have one more day with my wife before I am to leave again?”

The fact that _this_ was his objection made her smile widely, even though she fought it. “I will join you”, Dany said before anyone else could reply.

She hadn't truly thought about it, and the consequences of what she'd just said immediately came rushing in. A moon and a half inside a _tent_ , surrounded by a hundred-thousand people who at best had no reason to revere them, away from Dāero...

But with Jae. Not all was bad. “Fine”, Mance Rayder said. “My people will not care about the blood of these three guests, but I will be able to explain to them that it matters to you, which is enough.”

Aegon was rapidly looking back and forth between the two of them, and Dany now remembered that this meant leaving him alone at Castle Black. Oh well.

“Agreed”, Rhaegar said after the slightest hesitation. “They will bring knights of the Kingsguard with them, however. On the morrow, you will receive the first shipment of supplies as well as your guests. I will continue visiting after that, and after exactly five-and-fourty days, you will kneel and your people will cross the Wall.”

Mance Rayder nodded. “Yes, though there's one more thing.” Immediately, Rhaegar's expression hardened, and Dany could understand this very well. They'd already given them a lot. “Styr”, he pointed at the Magnar of Thenn, “wants his son back.”

There was a pause. “And the others would remain at Castle Black?”, Rhaegar asked, which earned a shrug from Rayder.

“In fact”, Aegon threw in, “I have a question for the Magnar.” All eyes turned to him. “The Thenns are more like us, are they not? They have a lord that is descended from the one before; Sigorn will be Magnar once his father dies.”

Dany wasn't sure if Styr had understood this, but Rayder confirmed what Aegon had said. Her nephew went on: “How do the Magnars – or their sons – choose their wives?”

“Stealing, usually”, Mance Rayder said. “Like most of the free folk. Sometimes, it's more targetted; like it is for you kneelers.” Dany thought he should forget about that word, considering that he would kneel quite soon. “If the Magnar wants to be closer to another tribe, he may have his son steal a wife of their own.”

They all knew where this was going. “So in the interest of achieving peace and close relations between our peoples”, Aegon said, “might the Magnar consider having his son wed a southern woman?”

Rayder translated this into the abrupt and somewhat harsh sounds of the Old Tongue, and Dany wished she could speak it. Styr replied straight away: “He says this could be possible”, Mance Rayder explained, “if she was truly important.”

Rhaegar looked thoughtful. “Now, both my sister and my daughter are already wed”, he said as if he would have ever considered the possibility otherwise, “but we will think on this, and give suggestions to the Magnar so he may decide if any of them might make for a suitable bride.”

 _But who?_ , she wondered. Convincing any northern lord – and there was no doubt in her mind that the girl would need to be northern – to give his daughter away to a wildling would be a difficult task to say the least.

Styr, meanwhile, looked satisfied with the translated response. “I _will_ tell him how important your suggestions are”, Mance Rayder added. “Don't try to give him some steward's daughter.”

That was too bad. “We would never attempt such a thing”, Rhaegar said anyway, then looked around. “Taking this into consideration, we will return his son based on the assumption that he will wed a woman from south of the Wall. Is this all?”

There was a pause as they all ran the various agreements through their minds before Mance Rayder concluded: “That is all.”

“Are you sure you want to come?”, Jae asked her later as they lay in their bed in the King's Tower, naked and warm and satisfied.

Dany traced her finger over his chest. “To be with you? Yes.”

She could hear his smile. “I am touched. You are sacrificing quite a bit of comfort.”

“That hardly matters.” She stopped. “Of course, if you do not want me to come...”

He took her hand. “I think I made it clear enough that I do.”

“Good”, Dany said, and then they were both silent for a moment. “You know”, she added then, “we _are_ husband and wife. We are meant to be in the same place.”

“Ah, but we do not necessarily need to _want_ to be.” He paused. “Even though I believe we do.”

Dany didn't know why this was such a difficult thing to admit to. “Tell me about the wildlings.”

He laughed briefly at her changing the subject; his chest shaking under her head. “Call them the free folk when they can hear. They are – well, they are people, as you can imagine. Most of them have absolutely no concept of royalty or nobility; they do not even understand why it should matter that we are both the children of kings. Do not expect them to treat you like a princess – they do not know what a princess _is._ ”

“I thought as much.” She had been in many places all over Essos; had met men and women who spoke many different tongues and followed many different customs. Yet, all of them had treated her as the sister of a king. “How do they view women?”

He shrugged, as she probably could've expected. “They have spearwives. Perhaps you should practice with them, since it might help to earn their respect. Then again, they also wed by ‘stealing’, which means to abduct a woman from her home. She is expected to violently resist, and the man must overpower her.” Dany looked up at him, disturbed, and he added: “I believe this is often done in a rather ceremonial way.”

“Oh, good.” In a way, she wasn't sure if this was actually worse than some highborn girl being sold by her father. “So should we say that you stole me?”

He chuckled. “I suppose. From... all the way across our floor in Maegor's? I should mention that they abhor incest.”

Yes, this had come up before. “That is unfortunate. Then again, we hardly count.”

“We do in their view.” His hand found his way to her hair. “I could not say if we would even be able to hide it, and if yes, if there would be any sense in that. They would learn the truth the moment they came south.”

Dany closed her eyes as his hand massaged her head; endlessly relaxing. “Well, we shall see”, she mumbled. “I am surprised that Rhaegar just agreed.”

“I think it means he will send Ser Arthur to come with us”, Jae replied. “And – one of the others.”

She nodded, rolling off his chest and onto his hand. “Hopefully Jaime. Loras is all Aegon's, and I am not yet used to Ser Andrew.” The seventh knight; Ser Kiran, had remained at Winterfell.

Jae hummed, turning onto his side to face her. Neither of them said anything else as he laid down his face by her neck, arms intertwined, and they soon fell asleep. Just before she drifted off, Dany thought that this would be the last time in a long while that they could do so in a feather bed.

Early the next morning, they were bid goodbye by Rhaegar, Aegon, and the new Lord Commander. Leaving alongside them, there were Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime, Cregan Snow, Sigorn of Thenn, and several more black brothers transporting a large number of carts.

It wasn't a true goodbye, to be fair, as Castle Black was within throwing distance of the wildling camp, and they could expect to see Rhaegar (and likely Aegon) frequently. “Let us not make this unnecessarily dramatic”, Jae told his brother. “If you want to know how we are, just look down from the Wall. Or shout; we will likely be able to hear you.”

“But you will miss so much!” Aegon made a gesture encompassing Castle Black in general. “Marsh's trial, for instance, and... yes, that is it. I will just ask Rhae to come here if I grow bored.”

This was the downside for everyone else: Without them, both Aegon and Rhaegar would need for her to come up from Winterfell if they wanted to travel on dragonback.

Cregan had been speaking to Lord Commander Stark, who clapped him on the shoulder before turning to them. “Best of luck, Your Graces”, he said. “If there is any sign of trouble, the Watch is always close.”

Yes. A thousand men at Castle Black against the hundred-thousand wildlings. “We will be fine, Uncle”, Jae said. “I see no threat to us as long as you make sure the free folk here are safe.” Then he nodded to Sigorn of Thenn and said something short and brusque in the Old Tongue.

The latter answered with what Dany thought sounded like a correction, and Jae rolled his eyes. Gods above, she would _have_ to learn some of it beyond the Wall.

“This is your tent”, the woman named Val informed her, and Dany was pleasantly surprised.

It wasn't a castle, obviously, but it looked comfortable enough, with a large pile of furs serving as a bed and a fire to keep them warm. “Thank you”, she said. “We greatly appreciate your hospitality.”

Val gave her a measuring look. “So you are a princess”, she said. “Your father is the king?”

“He was, when he still lived.” No need to detail his misdeeds. “And my husband's father is a different king; the current one.”

“I see.” Val cocked her head. “What do princesses do? Do you know how to do anything?”

Unsure as to whether she should be offended by the question, Dany sat down on her pile of furs. “That depends on what you mean.”

“Do you know how to weave?”, Val asked.

“Barely.”

“Sew?”

“Passably.”

“Cook?”

“No.”

“Butcher and skin an animal?”

“No.”

Val paused. “Fight?”

“Yes. Mostly with a sword.”

“Oh, good.” Val appeared – intrigued? “What else _can_ you do?”

Perhaps Dany _was_ mildly offended, though she couldn't truly blame her for asking. “I can ride a dragon”, she said. “I can negotiate; I possess knowledge of most of the rulers and dynasties of the known world; I speak several languages. Those are the kinds of things typically required of a princess, but I would be happy to learn the skills you described. Is there somebody who could teach me the Old Tongue?”

The woman looked amused. “Many, but it is hard. All the words are simply -” She made a short, guttural sound, and Dany had to laugh.

“I would still wish to try.”

Val sat down next to her. Dany thought that if she wore a gown, she would be highly regarded in any court – if only they had been looking to wed a wildling woman to a lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and not the other way around. “We will find someone to teach you if you wish. Now, tell me of dragons.”

Dany was happy to do so. “They are very large”, she said, “and they never stop growing. Ours are more than seven-and-ten years old and as large as -” A merchant's house? That would not mean anything to her. “Much bigger than you could imagine. Their scales are thick, larger than my hands, and harder than anything else I have ever touched, and their bodies are _hot_ ; as if you were sitting right by a hearth.” Gods, she already missed Dāero. “To fly one feels better than almost anything else in the world.”

“Almost?”, Val asked with a smile.

“Almost”, Dany echoed. “If I thought it to feel better than _anything_ , then I would need a different husband.”

Now it was Val's turn to laugh. “You are not what I imagined.”

“What did you imagine?” There was something deeply interesting about meeting someone with such a radically different outlook.

Val shrugged. “A girl who is only there to look and sound pretty and has never left her father's castle. She spends all day sitting somewhere in a silken gown, looking outside and brushing her hair.”

Dany did her best to not look annoyed. How to phrase it? “This girl does not exist”, she said. “There are plenty of noble ladies who are very constrained in what they can and cannot do, but this is not by their choice – and even they do more than that. I have more freedom than they do because I have a dragon, and who would tell me no? But if you meet a lady who does not, then do not think her weak simply because she does not have the kind of strength you know.”

There was a pause. “But what will us of the free folk do with our strength in the south?”

“You are coming because there is a war”, Dany replied. “I was hoping you would fight.”

These five-and-fourty days would certainly be interesting.


	38. The Shadow II

_Winterfell_

_Rhaenys_

Oberyn looked half dead: gaunt, pale, with deep rings under his eyes and unusually slow movements. “I saw it as if it had been a dream”, he told them. “First, I flew.”

Melisandre had birthed the shadow in a hut in the winter town, explaining that the magic in the castle's walls wouldn't have let it pass. “All the way across the realm, and I was so _fast_. That part was fantastic.” He smiled weakly, sipping on mulled wine with unsteady hands. “Down and down and then east, and finally there were the Stepstones, and I found Euron's ship as if something was drawing me to it. I suppose there was. And then I _saw_ it, and truth be told, I was disturbed.”

He was telling this to Rhaenys, Sarella, Marwyn, and the queens. “I have seen the Crow's Eye on the higher plane”, she said. “It is not a pleasant sight.”

Oberyn grimaced. “It is not. There was blood and _slime_ seeping through the planks of the ship, rotten and mouldy. All the crew had these strange round eyes, like squids, and each had one tentacle hanging out of their mouths as if it was a too-large tongue.”

“ _Oh”_ , Sarella said, edging forward on her seat. “That is very interesting.”

Rhaenys agreed. “We knew he had to have done something to them”, she said, mostly addressing her cousin and the archmaester. “To control them. Gods, I would love to know how.”

This earned her a concerned look from her mother. “Perhaps it is better if we do not.”

“Not to _emulate_ him”, she said, annoyed. “But fine. What happened next?”

“I found him.” Oberyn sounded flat. “I found _it_ ; this slimy, writhing, kraken _thing_. An abomination if there ever was one, oozing what I can only describe as shade of the evening after it has spoiled, if there can even be such a thing. Mind you, I could also see him on the physical plane; he was on a deck below, and I believe was trying to lay spells on several vats of tar. But this was the strange thing because it appeared quite banal – no great ritual of blood sacrifice, no invocation of ancient and forbidden gods. Just a few candles and incense.” He shrugged. “Either way, I believe the shadow had been meant to just slay him then and there, but Euron noticed. Looked straight at me.”

She had feared that much. “He does that”, Rhaenys said. “This was why you could not kill him?”

“Yes. On the other hand, it was very satisfying to see terror on his face for a moment. He threw a knife at me and it passed right through, and I came at him but he kept _evading_ me, slippery as he is. And then...” Oberyn shook his head. “He is not a complete fool, because he understood the one thing to do when you wish to rid yourself of a shadow: he extinguished all the candles.”

Lyanna clicked her tongue, loudly; her mother frowned, and Marwyn, too, seemed disappointed. “Then I suppose we were very unlucky not to have caught him outside”, Sarella said.

“Yes.” Oberyn was staring straight ahead. “For a moment, there was _nothing_. The shadow was simply gone from this world, and so was I.” He shook himself out of it. “And then I woke and found myself lying in bed, still very much existing, which was a relief to say the least.”

“And Melisandre, the great sorceress and priestess of the Lord of Light, did not foresee this?” Lyanna was, clearly, very unimpressed. “We could attempt an actual sacrifice; I am sure that Brandon has a few prisoners to spare. This is something we know will work.”

“It is always an option”, her mother agreed. “Yet, he will now be prepared. If he was enchanting tar, I assume that he means to use it to paint his ship.”

A rather absurd thought occurred to Rhaenys. “What do you think he has named it? I know it does not matter, but I do like the idea that he is now forced to find another name that is as ominous as _Silence_.”

“ _Quiet_ ”, Sarella suggested. “ _Stillness._ No; these truly do not work the same. Perhaps he will keep _Silence_ as a name and just pretend that he did not lose it when the combined might of several pantheons came crashing down on him.”

“Be that as it may.” Her mother was looking at Oberyn. “How are you?”

“Tired. Or _drained_ , rather. Melisandre says it will take me weeks to recover.” He shook his head. “And all that for no gain. At least it was an interesting experience, but I would rather not do it again.”

“We must tell Rhaegar”, Lyanna said, and Marwyn stood, nodding, to fetch the glass candle. “Hopefully they have had more success at the Wall than we have down here.”

Speaking to the king, they learned that Dany and Jae had effectively been given to the wildlings as hostages. The queens didn't like this, though the reasoning behind it was clear to all.

Then, they were told that it had been agreed that a northern lady would wed the son of the Magnar of Thenn. “You are joking”, Lyanna said when the king had finished speaking. He didn't reply, but simply looked into the candle.

“Gods”, she said then. “I knew you were serious, but – _gods_. You cannot actually imagine just how unlikely it is that any lord would agree to this.”

 _I am sure we will find a solution_ , the king's voice claimed through the candle.

“Oh, will we?” Lyanna had crossed her arms. “I know we must, but still.” She paused, then added: “Did you say _when_ this would be?”

 _No_. This was Aegon, sitting beside their father. _But it must happen. The wildlings will not simply go away after all is done – the Wall will be gone, and we will need to build relationships with them. The Thenn should be more easily integrated into the realm than others, and so -_

“Integrated into the realm”, Lyanna echoed. Rhaenys, too, had noticed this. “What does that mean?”

_It means that if we defeat the Others, the next thing we will need to worry about is what to do with the wildings and the land that will then no longer be beyond the Wall._

“Well”, their mother threw in, “you are likely right, but this truly will be very difficult. I can only see it happening if one of the families dies out almost entirely during the war, and that would somewhat defeat the purpose. Or”, she turned to Lyanna, “do you believe that your brother might agree -”

“Unlikely.” She stared into the candle. “The agreement has been made and nothing can be done except for fulfilling it, I suppose. I will try my best. How high of a noble does she need be?”

 _In Mance Rayder's words_ , the king replied, _not some steward's daughter_.

“Oh. There go all of my ideas.”

Rhaenys, too, had trouble imagining how this could possibly work; unless Lyanna somehow managed to convince her brother to betroth one of his daughters to the Thenn (and how she could possibly do so was difficult to conceive of). Alarra was to wed Torrhen, too.

This was when it hit her: If any betrothal could be amicably broken, it was this one, and then it would be easily replaced by Edric and Sansa, while Torrhen should have no trouble finding another wife. Yet – could she even suggest such a thing, knowing how much Alarra wanted Winterfell?

And even then, this meant Lyanna would have to convince two of her brothers, which was presumably harder than one.

Rhaenys looked at the candle, only half listening to the way everyone else was discussing the Lord Steward's trial at Castle Black. Could she... ? Would this be a terrible thing to do to her friend?

No, she decided, there was no need for her to bring it up. If it was a possibility at all, then someone else would soon think of it; if not, then, there was no use in even making the suggestion.

 _The trial is about to begin_ , the king said then. _We must go. Let us know if anything happens._

_Castle Black_

_Aegon_

“Bowen Marsh”, Benjen Stark said, “you stand accused of conspiring to kill your Lord Commander. The man who did it on your behalf said as much when he confessed to his crime before the eyes of his brothers. What do you have to say in your defence?”

“Chett lied”, the Lord Steward replied, kneeling with his hands tied behind his back. “He was told to by someone else. That must be why he is dead now, along with Lark.”

Aegon and the king were watching the proceedings from their own seats a few steps away from the commanders, Kingsguard behind them. “How did they die?”, his father whispered in his ear.

“Chett killed Lark”, he said. “And Jae killed Chett.”

“Ah.” The king drew back, digesting this.

Stark raised his hands, quieting the crowd. “You allege that you were framed. By whom?”

Marsh looked straight at them. “The princes. Or the king himself; I can't be sure.”

Aegon had to laugh. He wasn't the only one, and Stark just seemed confused. “This is a desperate man”, his father noted, quietly.

“Marsh”, the Lord Commander said, “this is treason, and it is implausible. At the time Jeor Mormont died, the entire royal family was still at Winterfell. I should know; I was there.”

The Lord Steward spat. “Perhaps you were part of it. We all know they wanted you to be Lord Commander.”

The onlookers did not like this, and Stark looked as if he was developing a headache. “Lark and Chett”, he said. “Fought each other to the death. Why?”

“I don't know. Some sorcery, probably; ask the king.”

Aegon wasn't sure what Marsh was even trying to achieve with this. Then again, it wasn't like he had any hopes of getting out alive either way. “Your Grace”, Stark said, “do you wish to address this?”

“I see no need.” His father's voice was as cold as the Wall, and Aegon wished he could sound like that. “This man is yours, Lord Commander.”

Stark nodded. “Bowen Marsh. If your only defence is to speak treason against a king who was not even there, then I find you guilty. Someone bring me my sword.”

“I'd still like to know about Chett and Lark”, Benjen Stark said later as they sat in his study. Outside the Lord Commander's Tower, their bodies were being burned alongside Marsh's. “I can believe that they would have wanted to kill each other, but how did Chett get inside Lark's cell? And why did they have weapons?” He sighed as he stared out the window. “I suppose the easiest explanation is that they were not searched properly, and that Chett picked the locks. Yet, it bothers me.”

While Aegon was still considering if they could bet on the Watch eventually forgetting about this or if they should find one more scapegoat, his father was already speaking. “If you believe someone else was part of this and need any assistance, you will have it. We possess methods that you do not.”

“Yes.” Stark looked thoughtful. “Lya has implied as much over the years. We will see. I need a new Lord Steward, now, too; and one who can count just how much food we are giving the wildlings.”

“It will not be for long”, the king said. “You will have help in administering the Watch and the Gift from Winterfell and my small council, too. All armies of the realm will come north, after all, or close to all – we are not expecting any attack in the south, but should leave some men there in case the Golden Company gets any ideas.”

The Lord Commander turned back to face them. “Do you believe they may be a threat?”

“Hardly. According to our information, they are rather divided after their last Captain-general has died. What is more, we are considering to purchase the services of several sellsword companies.”

And if Dany's Lyseni was successful, they would gain part of the Golden Company. “Well, I see that the Wall will be well-defended.” Stark walked to his desk and unrolled a long scroll, which Aegon realised was a map of the Wall and its castles. Under each, there was a row of numbers; one after the other had been crossed out and replaced by a higher one. _305_ , it said under Castle Black, then _456_ , _587_ , _721_ , _849_ , _912_ – Stark blinked, took his quill, crossed out the _912_ and replaced it with _908_. “Due to the choosing, we have the most recent numbers for each castle. It would be good to speak with the master of war in order to decide on the stationing of the southron armies. And then, there is this.” He pointed to the westernmost part of the map, where a bridge was sketched next to the Wall. “As the wildlings are here, they will come through our gate. We need to destroy the Bridge of Skulls before anything else comes across.”

“Indeed. Well, we do not lack for implements that can fling heavy rocks at it.” His father slid his hand over the map. “I will call Lord Baratheon here. There is also the matter of Valyrian steel. Every House in possession of any such weapon has been commanded to either bring it to the fight, or, if they cannot participate, to lend it until this coming war is over.”

“That is good”, Stark said. “But they will not like it.”

“They will need to live with it. I will see every one of these blades the realm has to offer in capable hands, and we have put out word across the Narrow Sea – we will buy up every Valyrian dagger in the Free Cities if need be. And you are to receive more dragonglass.”

“We have plenty of dragonglass, Your Grace.” Aegon remembered just how much they'd seen down in the cells.

The king shrugged. “You can never have enough.”

“I suppose.” Stark frowned. “Gods, I better appoint that Lord Steward quickly. Someone will need to keep track of all this.”

“Taking control of the armies of the realm”, Aegon said. “And the supplies, _and_ the Valyrian swords. Some would argue that you are overstepping royal authority.”

The king looked out over the wildling camp and wilderness beyond – somewhere down there, Dany and Jae were doing gods knew what. “Do you think it is a misstep?”

“No.” Aegon's mind was racing as he considered the possibilities. “I think it is an _excellent_ step. There will be some grumbling, but this threat is the perfect justification. And when all is done, we will have set a precedent.”

His father smiled. “Quite so. I hope to eventually leave you with a realm that is not only _not_ a wight-ridden wasteland, but also organised in a more unified way. A danger such as this one presents the opportunity for changes that would be unthinkable in different times.”

 _Yes_ , Aegon thought. “More unified – and larger. What will we _do_ with this?” He pointed his chin to the land before them.

“I do not know”, the king said. “Not fully. I do not intend to let this become part of the North; it is large enough as things stand now. This might call for the kind of administrative creativity a well-read young heir should possess.” He gave Aegon a meaningful look.

“Are you making this my responsibility?”, he asked, absolutely thrilled.

“I am. The future of the realm is very much the Prince of Dragonstone's concern.”

Staring down at the landscape, Aegon was surprised to find himself struck with awe. This would give him a legacy before he even became king (unless his father met an untimely end, but he didn't want to think about that). “I shall write my best treatise yet. Speaking of the future – Rhae and I are having trouble conceiving an heir, considering that we are not in the same place.” And he missed her.

“I see your point. Yet, we need her at Winterfell.” The king adjusted his coat. “I suppose she could travel back and forth, but overall, she very much does need to be there with Marwyn, and I want you to be seen with me at Castle Black.”

Aegon couldn't even complain about that.

Satin's naked body was a sight to behold. He was so pretty that Aegon sometimes wondered if there was any Valyrian blood in him – considering that he was, in his own words, descended from a long line of Oldtown whores, it wasn't unlikely, though also very difficult to narrow down.

“You know”, the prince said as they were both lying in bed, “my wife will come visit soon.”

He heard a groan. “That sentence never bodes well. Will she feed me to her dragon?”

Aegon had to laugh at that, trying and failing to imagine that Rhae would be anything but amused or intrigued. She likely knew already. “She is not the jealous type.”

“I see.” Satin rolled onto his belly and pushed the curls out of his face. “Your marriage is one of duty?”

That, too, was a funny idea. “I love her more than anything else, and she knows it. So why should she be jealous?”

Now Satin understood. “It is _that_ kind of arrangement, then. Very Dornish of you.”

“I am really not sure why everyone thinks that.” Aegon propped himself up on his elbows so he could give him an annoyed look. “The only Dornishman I know who has the same kind of relationship is one of my uncles, but that is it. And I know most of the lords and ladies of Dorne.”

“Fine.” Satin changed position just so he could raise his arms defensively. “What do I know of the Seven Kingdom's bedding habits? My prince must be right.”

His prince groaned. He wanted to admit that perhaps he was more annoyed by these ideas of Dornish habits because anti-Dornish sentiment in general annoyed (and, to a small extent, threatened him), but Aegon was not entirely confident that Satin wasn't some sort of spy. Would it make sense for the maesters or the Hightowers to have him get close to the future king? Yes. Would it make sense that they had sent him to the Wall for that purpose? Absolutely not. Yet, he did think that he told him too much.

Yes, Satin knew more than he probably should, as did Samwell Tarly. They hadn't staged Lark and Chett's deaths as smoothly as they could have, either – Aegon would've given much to have had Oberyn or Tyene Sand with them up here, who surely would have known of a poison that would have had them freeze in the cells. He currently couldn't be sure of either Satin's or Tarly's silence, and that bothered him.

“Is Your Grace offended?”, the steward asked.

Aegon blinked. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. “I am thinking.”

“Brooding, you mean?”

Was Satin teasing him because he enjoyed it, or in order to gain information?

And: Was Aegon being paranoid?

“ _Thinking”_ , he repeated. “My brother broods. I think.”

Satin rolled closer. “I am only lowborn and unlearned, so please my prince, explain the difference to me.”

Beyond not being sure if he was or wasn't a spy, Aegon also hadn't yet decided whether Satin's insubordination was charming or annoying. “The difference is purely aesthetic – his face makes it look like brooding. Now, do you know what is hugely conductive to thinking?”

“I am guessing the answer is ‘being left alone’?”

“Close. A bath, so go draw me one before we both forget that you are meant to be my steward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Watch just doesn't seem like the kind of organisation that would take trials very seriously.


	39. Winter I

_Beyond the Wall_

_Daenerys_

“No, no”, the woman said, brusquely. “You just said that you want to breathe the water. _Deygal_ is breathe; _degal_ is drink.”

These two words were, allegedly, different, even though Dany struggled to recognise the sound, and had even more trouble mimicking it. She tried again, and this time, her teacher nodded. “See? It is easy. Now say that you _don't_ want to drink the water.”

This was harder to do than it might have been in Common, as the Old Tongue made negations strangely complicated. Still, she managed, prompting Holly to clap her hands. “One more moon and Sigorn can steal you. None of the southron girls can talk to him, anyway.”

Holly wasn't a Thenn, but she was from a clan that interacted with them often. Dany had been fascinated to learn about all the different peoples the free folk comprised (and that the Thenns technically did not fall under that term at all), as well as a few sentences in the Old Tongue. Holly, who she had met through Val, had been an invaluable teacher in this.

“Jon already stole me”, she pointed out. The free folk's collective inability to pronounce the name Jaehaerys, or even just Jae, had been of great comfort to her while struggling with their language.

Holly shrugged while they continued their way through the snow. “We're all in danger. He might die. Now say that you don't want to drink water a second time.”

Dany sighed. Numbers, too, were strange. Yet she somehow managed the complicated grammar, even though she fell back into saying _deygal_.

Quick steps sounded behind them, and then Jae had caught up. “Gods”, he said. “A fortnight and you speak more of the Old Tongue than I've learned in my whole life.”

Their group was travelling to a weirwood grove in the forest. The sers Arthur and Jaime hated every bit of this idea, both claiming that if anything happened to them and they came back as wights, Rhaegar would somehow still behead them for treason, but Dany and Jae had decided that praying alongside the free folk would be a good way to become closer to them.

And so they had struck out with Holly, Val, the knights, Creg Snow, and a few others, including a raider named Jarl who Dany thought was likely Val's – husband? Lover? She did not quite understand how this all worked. They were a dozen overall.

Ghost was there, too. His presence was as reassuring as Dawn on Ser Arthur's back while they made their way through the woods. “Well, you can practice”, Dany told her husband. “No better time than now. If you do not, then I will ask Holly to teach me all the ways to insult you.”

“Oh, there are many”, the woman said, grinning. “I can think of five different words for men with small cocks, but the best is _rykkerdos_ , which means that his cock has the grey death and will fall off soon.”

The Old Tongue was a marvel of compound words. “I see that the insults are very cock-based”, Jae said.

Holly shook her head. “Only the nice ones. If you really hate someone, you say that you want the white walkers to take him.”

At the sheer mention of the name, everyone in their group quieted their chatter and looked around, suddenly uneasy. “I would not want that on my worst enemy”, Dany said. “Purely because they would then come back. How far is it?”

“We are there!”, Val called from the front, where she had been chatting to Ser Jaime (Dany thought it likely that somewhere in Storm's End, the Lady Cersei was suddenly experiencing inexplicable feelings of jealousy).

That was a relief. They stepped onto the grove, where nine weirwoods were facing each other, and she was struck by the strange feeling of holiness she had experienced in godswoods, too. These weren't _her_ gods – though Dany wasn't sure which ones were – but she could understand how they would make Jae feel.

Their group quickly dispersed to go pray at the trees. Dany knelt on the wet, cold ground beside her husband, removing a glove and immediately feeling the icy bite of the air around them. It was terribly cold.

He smiled at her, however. “There is no place closer to the gods.”

They intertwined their hands, and she could feel his warmth. Dany closed her eyes when they touched the tree, expecting an onslaught of visions, but instead feeling nothing more than a strangely comfortable connection; like sinking into a bath at Dragonstone or strolling through the gardens in the Red Keep. It felt like home.

 _Can you hear me?_ , she heard him ask.

Dany blinked. _Yes!_ They turned their heads to look at each other, then, smiling and strangely delighted. _Weirwoods are incredible. We should have more of them in the south._

He snorted, then; physically. _Blame the Andals. But if the one in the Red Keep is anything to go by, we can turn any tree into a weirwood with enough blood sacrifice._

She thought back to the Iron Islands, and the terrible thing she had made happen there to save Aegon. _Perhaps there has been enough of that._

Dany could feel his sadness, and thought it likely that he had seen the image in her head. _I would be surprised if this had been the end of it. How many?_

She swallowed. _Nine-and-thirty men who fought for Euron. All drowned because ironborn are not meant to spill the blood of other ironborn, so strictly speaking, it was no blood sacrifice._

 _Drowning is worse than having your throat cut_ , she heard him think, even though he likely hadn't meant her to. _Well, it helped free Aegon. I do not believe that any of us thought we could get this all done without killing anyone_.

That was an understatement. Dany could now see through his own eyes how he stabbed the heart of an extraordinarily ugly man in a room made of ice, and couldn't muster any outrage over it.

Enough of that. Dany decided to do what they'd come here for and prayed – for mankind and the realm, for their family, for Viserys if he was with any gods now. She could hear Jaehaerys' prayers in turn, revolving around much of the same.

When she opened her eyes and looked into the weirwood's bleeding face, she thought that it was too quiet, and very suddenly, that scared her. Dany's head whipped around to see –

Everyone in their group finishing their prayers in silence, with Jaime and Ser Arthur standing watch in the middle of the grove. She took a deep breath to remind herself that this scene was peaceful rather than threatening; perhaps the first moment of calm she'd felt for weeks. Jae was done, too, and so they untangled their sap-stained fingers, then cleaned their hands in the snow. It fell back to the ground cold and red.

She was sure that they'd left the camp less than an hour ago, but dusk was already upon them. When Val stood from before her tree, she nodded to them, looking serious. No one needed to say that they better return as quickly as they could.

“Alright”, Jae said the very moment the last of the free folk had risen, as speaking before would have felt like blasphemy. “I am glad that the gods are still the same.”

“Did they talk to you?”, Val asked.

“No.” Jae brushed the snow off his breeches. “Not today, anyway. I take this to be a good sign – the first time I heard them in the haunted forest they were screaming to warn me of the dead.”

Val frowned, as did Holly and Jarl. “Screaming”, she repeated flatly. “You mean the wind? The branches?” She pointed to the general stillness around them. “I think it is terribly quiet today.”

Jae frowned right back, and Dany hid a smile by adjusting her furs. She'd always thought that it couldn't be that gods just talked to _everyone_ , no matter how many of them there were. “I meant screaming”, he said. “You know, like when people speak, but louder.”

Though she didn't ask anything else, Dany could spot Val shooting a look at Jarl, who stared at Jae for a moment. She only hoped that whatever the wildlings took away from it, it was good.

They lit torches before they began their way back. This was a challenge considering the conditions, but knowing that the free folk held a deep distrust for sorcery, neither Dany not Jaehaerys wanted to use their blood.

“It will be dark soon”, Ser Arthur pointed out to her when they stepped back into the forest.

“Indeed.” Dany saw how Holly walked a few steps behind them. “I am sure Dawn can light the way for us if need be.” Right now, the light from the flames danced beautifully on the white blade.

The knight just looked at her, not needing to point out that this wasn't how the sword worked. “If Rhaegar finds out that we even went -”

“He will be very cross, yes. Holly!” She then asked her to come closer in the Old Tongue, and Holly only complied because she'd said it right. None of the free folk trusted the Kingsguard.

“What did Jon mean”, she asked in Common, but with a lowered voice, “when he said the gods have screamed at him?”

Dany shrugged, still holding back a smile. “Exactly what he said. They talk to him sometimes.”

“They talk to everyone.” Holly looked around, where the forest lay still and cold. “You can feel them through the wind, the rustling in the trees -”

“He means that they talk, with words. Like you and I right now.” She'd never heard them, but she'd got the visions. “Sometimes they show him things as well.”

Holly looked to where Jae was speaking to Cregan a few steps ahead, their voices just as hushed as everyone else's. “That is strange”, she decided. “Are you sure he's not mad? I knew a man once who thought he could _talk_ to the gods, and then he hanged himself on a weirdwood branch.”

That was a disturbing thought, especially as those trees just seemed so perfectly suited for that. “I am quite sure he is sane”, she replied.

Before them, both Cregan and Jae stopped hard in their tracks, making her almost run into them. Jae raised his hand to bid all to be quiet.

Ghost was staring into the forest with twitching ears and a tense posture – and so they all stood for a moment, listening; hearing _nothing_ but each others' breaths.

“We should walk faster”, Val announched into the silence, and Dany felt relived when they could move again. A look at Ghost told her he was snarling.

She reached inside her cloak, feeling the three dragonglass blades she had strapped to her waist. The problem with the material was its brittleness – you couldn't make a sword out of it, exactly. It served well enough for short daggers, spear tips, and arrowheads. But even then, from what they knew, wights didn't particularly care about what you cut them with.

“Maybe he's just heard a shadow cat”, Holly suggested, talking about Ghost.

Cregan seemed unconvinced. “Maybe”, he said anyway. “It _is_ awfully cold, now. I can't wait for some hot mead and a big bowl of stew.”

The luxuries of a tent seemed far away, though what Dany really wanted was a steaming, scalding bath. No chance of that for the next moon.

They all just gave vague murmurings in answer, focusing on increasing their pace. For a while, their steps were the only sounds in the forest.

Then, Ghost growled. Considering that he was about horse-sized, this was a loud, terrifying noise that made Dany's breath hitch and her heart skip a beat as they all froze in place. She'd never heard him make any sound before.

“What is it?”, Cregan said to the direwolf, who only took a step back and growled again, though more loudly. His white fur glittered with ice crystals.

Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime were behind her and Jae the next instant. Instinctively, Dany stepped even closer to the knights, searching the comfort of the torches they held. “Your Graces”, Ser Arthur whispered, “we will now walk _very_ swiftly, and I do not care who else gets left behind. Should anything happen, you will not leave our sides and not take risks for anyone else's sake. Should either or both of us fall, light our bodies with your blood and _run_.”

Dany's throat felt tight. “Surely, there will be no need for any of that”, she said. “Let us simply hurry so we can have supper soon.”

And so they walked further, the rest of the group keeping pace. “Who can fight?”, Jaime asked.

“Everyone.” There was no doubt in Jae's voice.

“Good”, Ser Arthur said. “Who has dragonglass?”

“Everyone”, she repeated. It had been copious among the supplies they'd brought to the camp.

They kept walking; going faster and faster until Dany's legs told her to break into a run. It was _freezing_ , so cold that she thought her breath might turn to ice the second it left her lungs. She could feel the sweat beneath her furs, and the way her heart was beating too hard in her chest.

Then Ghost growled again, and this time it was even louder, but didn't make them stop. In the flickering light of the torches she thought she could see mist coming in from between the trees, but at least there could be no wind here in the forest to extinguish the flames –

Except that there suddenly was. It came like a frozen whip to the face, for a heartbeat she couldn't breathe, and the fires were gone.

“ _Fuck”_ , Jae said.

Ser Arthur gave her a shove. “Run.”

She complied, but didn't get far because suddenly Jae's arm was in front of her, blocking the way.

A few steps before them, silent and motionless, stood about three dozen corpses in tight formation.

By the gods, the wights were just _wrong_. Some were mere skeletons at this point, some had rotten flesh hanging off them, others still seemed like they had died mere days ago, grizzly wounds crusted with blood. All had terrible blue eyes and held their weapons in black hands – ranging from rusty and ancient to those that seemed good as new.

For either a heartbeat or an eternity, Dany was frozen in horror. Then she heard Ser Arthur unsheathe Dawn.

The Kingsguard were in front of them immediately, which was just as well as the wights now started moving. Jae had already drawn Longclaw, but Dany picked a torch off the ground before reaching for her sword. “A flint”, she said.

Jae shot her a quick, panicked look, then reached into his coat. He just about had enough time to hand her the stone before all seven hells broke lose.

Before she knew it, Dany was encircled by the men; could see the wights coming at them. Longclaw sliced one in two from shoulder to hip, making both halves fall to the ground only for the arms and legs to keep moving; keep crawling towards them.

Gods. She struggled to remove a glove with her teeth while she heard curses and grunts; saw a skeletal hand fly through the air as she finally pulled her own free, drawing her finger over the edge of the stone. It wasn't sharp enough and she had to take her sword, too; awkwardly holding all items in two hands.

A scream went through the forest when one of the free folk went down, several wights on top of him in a pile of dead flesh. Dany finally managed to cut her palm, thinking it had likely gone a little too deep, but there was no time to worry. A generous smear of blood was there to stain the extinguished torch.

Through the gap between the knights, she could see Ghost tearing wights apart like they were nothing, all teeth and claw. Dany had to press the torch to herself with her arm while striking the flint against the sword, murmuring a frantic “ _Perzys”_.

No spark. Another scream sounded like Holly, a wight was walking right along the sword Ser Jaime had stuck into it and trying to claw at his throat, a hand with half an arm attached to it snuck into the circle the men had formed around her and she stepped onto it with all her weight, feeling the bones break under her feet.

Another try. There was a spark, but it missed. The wight stood no chance of getting through Ser Jaime's armour but was clearly a hindrance when even more came at him, but then Dawn's blade came down in a pale flash and separated its arms from the rest, which let Jaime shake it all off.

She was about to try once more but then she heard Holly scream again and looked up; saw that she was fighting two wights while a legless one clung to one of her feet and another was moving towards her with an axe held high.

Meanwhile, here Dany was, being useless. She aimed, struck the flint, and shouted _“Perzys!”_

The flame shot up, hit her full in the face, and felt like triumph. Burning torch in one hand and sword in the other, she made her way out from between the men despite Ser Arthur's shout of protest, running at the wight with the axe and barely needing to do anything to set it ablaze.

Light filled the dark forest, making the horror around them all the more apparent. No time to take stock. Dany cut the legs out from one of the ones Holly was fighting and jumped to break its hands, then set fire to another that was coming at her. Suddenly even more of them appeared, but so did Ghost and Cregan Snow.

“Everyone!”, Val's voice screamed, “Run while we can!”

That seemed like a good idea. As long as they stayed together, she thought, they should be able get away as the wights weren't terribly fast, and now that they had fire that would be all the better. She looked around, saw that there weren't any more coming from the direction they'd need to run to, and then spotted something strange standing in between the trees.

She knew what it was, of course. It couldn't be anything else. It was clear why it was called an _Other_.


	40. Winter II

_Beyond the Wall_

_Daenerys_

The enemy moved in an inexplicable way; as if it wasn't really there. There was something mesmerising about it, including its strange inhuman beauty and the way its armour reflected the flames.

Dany walked towards it, smiling, noting how its eyes (terrible and blue like the wights') fell upon her. It said something that sounded like ice cracking.

Well, that was the right idea. Dany threw the torch at it.

She had expected it to either burn like the wights or melt, as Jae had described. She had _not_ expected it to catch the torch, spend a split second looking far too smug for something so inhuman, and plunge it flame-first into the snowy ground.

“Dragonglass!”, she screamed, just in case that anyone else wasn't yet aware of the arrival of the Other. She had no time to find her own knives before it was suddenly there and aimed its icy blade at her heart.

Dany evaded the stab, then parried another, and her blade at once looked like it was covered in frost. Holly's spear came in to block the Other's next blow, the shaft was sliced cleanly in half.

They _had_ dragonglass, she knew, meeting the ice sword with her own once more, and then a third time. It shattered, frozen as it was, and all she could do was walk back while reaching for her dragonglass knives (with such small _reach_ ), praying that someone else would –

Of course, someone else did. The Other was faster than any man and held a weapon made of magic they couldn't even begin to understand, but Ser Arthur Dayne would have gone up against ten of them to fulfil his vows. He was suddenly in front of her and she couldn't see the Other anymore; the next moment, nobody would ever see this creature again because it screamed and then turned into a puddle on the forest floor.

The knight turned to her, white armour quite literally shining. “So Dawn works on them”, Dany said.

“Yes. Now _stay with me_ , princess, because -”

She had already turned around, allowing herself just the briefest time to survey the scene. The wights were still there, people were still fighting, and they had no more fire. There were fewer, now, but not any more corpses; instead, it seemed some had run – though she could hear shouts in the distance.

The ones she'd set alight did, in fact, still burn in piles that looked like campfires. Dany searched the ground for more dropped torches but couldn't see any, and then there was one moving in their direction but Holly used what was left of her spear to push it into the flames.

This was good until it wasn't, because another of the free folk stumbled into the flailing wight. His furs caught fire immediately, soon followed by panicked screams.

“Roll in the snow!”, Dany shouted, trying to run towards him to help and being held back by Ser Arthur. She stared at him, furious, while he quite casually destroyed another wight. “I won't burn!”, Dany told him.

“Maybe, maybe not. But everything you wear _will._ ”

She didn't think that being literally cloaked in fire that was unlikely to hurt her would be bad, considering their situation. Dany tried to run to the man again and was pulled back in an iron grip. She was as safe as anyone could possibly be here and now, protected by the best swordsman the realm had to offer and the six-foot reach Dawn gave him. She was also of no help to anyone and _couldn't_ be, because she had no more fire and only a broken sword.

Somewhere relatively far away, she could see Ghost's massive white body in between the trees, and assumed that this was where Jae and the rest were fighting. The burning man on the ground kept screaming as Holly desperately tried to cover him in snow, and from behind them, more and more pairs of glowing blue eyes were approaching.

“Come”, Ser Arthur demanded, dragging her with him and away from the approaching wights as he destroyed another one in passing.

“What?” Dany tried to pull away, pointing to Holly who was stumbling back from the burning man as her – oh by the gods, her sleeves had caught fire and the wights were coming –

The next moment, she was being flung over Ser Arthur's shoulder like a sack of grain, leaving her to kick and punch layers of fur and armour. “Ser!”, Dany screamed, trying to wiggle free, “Ser I command you to let me help her -”

She could have shouted the same orders at the Wall for all the good it did her. The knight broke into a jog as if he wasn't carrying her at all, heading away from the wights and the fire and not even towards where she thought Jae was; just taking them further and further into the darkness. Dany hung over his shoulder, limp and trying to ignore Holly's screams and, even worse, the moment they stopped and she only heard her own breath as well as Ser Arthur's. She only now noticed that her left hand hurt where she'd cut it.

After a while, his breaths became more ragged and he finally let her down, only to grab her arm and keep walking. “Ser”, Dany said, “we cannot _run_ like that -”

“We clearly can.” He set a brisk pace, both of them stumbling through the darkness. “There were too many. The best way to keep you safe was to take you away.”

“You are not only meant to keep _me_ safe. Jae is somewhere -”

“He has Ser Jaime, his cousin, Longclaw, and a direwolf”, Ser Arthur said. She hoped he was right. “You have a broken sword.”

Dany looked back, and found she could see nothing. How far had they already gone? “Do you know where we are going?”

“Yes. Now _come_ , princess.”

So they walked on, and Dany felt sick. For all she knew, people were dying where they'd left them behind; every single one of the rest was being raised as a wight this very instant, and here they were, walking undisturbed.

Her left hand felt too cold. She'd lost the glove and tried to pull her sleeve over it, not entirely sure how deep the cut was. And it was so _dark_ , now.

“For all we know”, Dany said as loudly as she dared, “we could be surrounded by them right now.”

“I am aware.” Ser Arthur didn't say much else for a while, and Dany thought he was stumbling more often than she wanted him to. Then he stopped once they stood under a small gap in the tree crowns, squinting up at the sky.

Under the dim light of the moon and stars and with most of his face obscured by his helmet, Dany wasn't entirely sure what to make of his expression. “Ah”, he said then, tone flat, and abruptly turned by ninety degrees.

Dany cursed under her breath. “Ser”, she said, “I take this to mean that you do _not_ know where we are going.”

“I know where. I was just wrong about how to get there.”

“I assume Rhaegar would have enjoyed such an answer.” Dany continued walking beside him because that was the only choice she had, and suddenly she was so tired. The thrill of the fight had worn off, leaving her with a throbbing hand and exhaustion she felt deep in her bones, and thinking that it was _too fucking cold_.

She was somehow still holding that broken sword and now returned it to the scabbard, then pushed her right hand into her left sleeve to hold her own hand and try to keep it warm. Ser Arthur stopped again to look to the sky, and corrected course once more.

“Ser”, she said.

“Your Grace.”

“I believe that we are walking in the direction we came from.”

A pause. “Yes. I did not know which way we were going when we left; I wanted to take you away from the wights. I do know that we need to go east to return to the camp. We are doing that now.”

Well, there was no use in pointing out that this could mean returning to danger – Dany was quite sure that every single spot in this forest was dangerous.

She wanted to pray. Not to the Seven; they felt too distant here. She would be glad if they returned to the weirwood grove, though she thought that likely lay in the opposite direction. But she wanted to pray because she didn't know if _anyone_ else had survived – hopefully, the rest of them were all back at the camp by now, though Jae would have just immediately returned to the forest if he hadn't found her there. But what if...

She couldn't bear the thought. Seeing her own brother die had been bad enough; the idea of seeing her husband both dead and moving was too horrifying to contemplate.

Dany was taken out of her thoughts when Ser Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, and she froze. After a moment, her ears picked up what he must've heard – a familiar sound, in fact. Two light, hard objects being struck against each other. Someone was trying to create a spark.

Thank the old gods, then. Someone living, clearly, and perhaps even Jae.

She could hear the person quickly rise when they approached. “It is us!”, Ser Arthur said into the darkness.

“Oh, good.” One of the free folk – perhaps Jarl? “Help me, quickly, please -”

They hurried towards him. Now closer, Dany could tell that he was kneeling over an unmoving body, then saw: It was Holly.

“Oh no”, she said, which was perhaps the most inadequate reaction she could've come up with.

“Help me”, Jarl repeated, and he struck the flint again. A spark hit her torso, where he'd placed a small piece of cloth. “It won't catch.”

Gods, Holly. Dany couldn't really tell how she'd died, though there was too much left of her for it to have been the flames.

At least she could help with the fire. Dany freed her left hand and grit her teeth before pulling the cut back open, then took Jarl's char cloth and wiped it across the wound. It was too cold for any of this to hurt as much as it could've.

She placed the cloth back on Holly's belly, sparing a sad glance at what she could see of her face in the darkness. Then she held out her hand and took the flint.

Holly's eyes flew open, shining a terrifying blue. Dany heard the men curse and the next moment she had the woman's hand clawing at her face, then was suddenly under her, the tip of a broken spear mere inches away from her throat.

She wrapped her right hand around the shaft, convinced that it couldn't be long until Ser Arthur dragged the wight off her. But this didn't happen and so she kicked up, which changed nothing; then took all her strength and twisted the spear around.

It went through her eye. The monster that had once been Holly didn't care, but it let her twist the head and then turn them both around, fixing her head down on the floor by plunging the spear into the ground as far as she could.

Dany wrenched free her broken sword to cut into her. Her blood was clotted and black, Dany punched her in hopes of breaking something, Holly's hands still aimed for her as she tried to kick her off. Dany searched the ground for the char cloth while Holly tried to pull the spear out. Her fingers found the cloth and struck the flint, a spark flashed – _“Perzys!”_ – and grew into a rapid fire. She took the cloth, burning, and pressed it to the wight.

Then she scrambled to her feet. The sudden brightness of Holly's burning body showed that a headless corpse was coming towards her while Jarl's head lay on the ground a few feet away, his eyes that same blue. Behind, Ser Arthur was fighting an Other; both figures moving more quickly and gracefully than anyone should be able to.

Gods, this couldn't be their end after all they'd already survived tonight. Dany pushed Jarl into the flames and this time, she had enough time to reach for a dragonglass dagger.

The Other's attention was entirely taken up by the knight, and its movements betrayed that it was astonished that Dawn wouldn't break upon meeting its ice sword – it aimed for the sword rather than the Kingsguard again and again; as if hitting Dawn just one more time would finally make it break. Dany thought that it would make sense to throw something once more, and so she did, sending the dragonglass flying over the flames and towards the creature.

It hit its leg and fell to the ground, but the enemy shrieked. Blocking Dawn, its head spun to her even as steam was rising from its leg.

This was enough for Ser Arthur to cut it in two.

_Jaehaerys_

They had been stumbling through the dark forest, mindless and terrified for everyone else, when flames suddenly shone through the trees like a beacon.

“Stop”, he said, grabbing Ser Jaime's arm.

He didn't know what had happened to the rest of their group – they'd been separated from Creg as well as Val, had run into a random direction to get _away_ , had encountered more wights and an Other, who would've been much harder to kill if it had anticipated the effects of Valyrian steel. Now they were cold, and tired, and hurting, and he'd spent most of their flight imagining how Dany would suddenly come up from between the trees with blue eyes (his certain doom since he'd be unable to fight her even then), or being cut down by Dawn held by a black hand, or Creg and Ghost; reanimated.

But now – now there was fire, which could really only mean one thing. Jaehaerys was so relieved he almost cried.

Suddenly reenergised, he ran towards the flames, the knight just behind him. They reached them just when Ser Arthur killed the Other, two halves melting even as the torso hit a tree with a wet, undignified sound. Dany stood over two burning corpses like an ancient Valyrian priestess somehow lost beyond the Wall.

And then he held her in his arms, smelling of blood and ash. “Oh gods, oh gods”, she kept saying, pressed against him and _alive._

“We are not safe yet”, Ser Arthur said. The next thing Jaehaerys knew, they were back to walking through the woods, holding burning branches as torches (and needing to replace them often, with Dany's fire eating through wood so quickly). He didn't remember much of this afterwards; the walk was just a blur of feeling cold, tired, and scared, but then they reached the edge of the forest and the camp and the Wall looming large. At that point, Jaehaerys just wanted to lie down.

But he couldn't; not yet. They were met by Mance Rayder himself, Val standing next to him. “Well, that's a relief”, he said when they were close enough to hear, all four of them dragging themselves towards the first tents. “Your king would have had us all killed if you hadn't come back.”

Jaehaerys cleared his throat, and looked at the camp. Most of its inhabitants were asleep, but still, the endless rows of tents and fires remained impressive. “You knew”, he said, nodding at Val. She didn't look like she was in great shape, either, but she had very clearly managed to escape. “You didn't send anyone to help us.”

“How?”, Mance Rayder asked. “If I had sent five men or five hundred, it wouldn't have done any good. Not at night, anyway. We would've looked for you at first light.”

Gods, he was tired. “To burn our bodies, if they had still been dead?”

Dany put her hand on his arm. “Better than nothing”, the King-Beyond-the-Wall said.

“Not to interrupt”, Ser Jaime said, “but we should go somewhere warm, and then sleep there. Any argument can wait until the morning.”

“Yes”, Dany said, somewhat falling into him. Jaehaerys felt so weak he barely had the strength to keep her standing.

And so they moved again, but he wasn't ready to lie down. “Have you seen Creg?”, he asked, directed at everyone.

“Not since I last saw you”, Val said. “Have you seen Jarl?”

Dany sighed. “He is dead. I am so sorry.”

There was a brief silence. “Did you burn his body?”, Val asked then.

“We did. Holly is gone, too.”

Gods, he could only hope Creg was still alive somewhere, protected by Ghost. Jaehaerys thought that the right thing to do would probably be to run right back into the forest and not stop until he found him, but there was absolutely no way that anyone would let him.

“The knight has the right of it”, Mance Rayder said. “You need to sleep. Maybe some of the rest will make it back; maybe not, but we can't change anything about that now.”

Still, he hated feeling so helpless. He hated it when they fell onto the pile of furs in their tent, even though his body was duly grateful for all the warmth and softness, and he hated it when he felt Dany's breathing steady within mere heartbeats. For a few short moments, Jaehaerys thought he wouldn't be able to sleep at all – but then he did, deeply, until Sigorn of Thenn shook him awake the next morning.


	41. The South I

_Castle Black_

_Rhaenys_

Upon arriving at the Wall, Rhaenys had quickly greeted her father, then gone to her husband's rooms and not come out for the next day and night. After all, this visit was about ensuring the future of their line and the realm, and that wasn't a task to be done halfheartedly.

“We need the sheets changed”, Aegon said the next morning.

Rhaenys sighed, her head lying on his chest. “And a bath, perhaps.”

“That, too.” His fingers drew circles on her back. “I suppose I should call in my steward.”

That made her chuckle. “Is he scared of me? I hope he is.”

“Somewhat. I have no idea why.”

She lifted up her head, outraged. “Excuse me? I have slain hundreds from atop Vēzos, and killed men twice my weight with Dark Sister. I have made the harbour basin at Lannisport boil, have -”, she lowered her voice, “killed the Hand of the King, have brought a storm upon the _Silence._.. Really, any man wiser than you would be terrified of me.”

Aegon grinned and kissed her on the lips. “Of course. My frightful wife.” He climbed out of bed. “Well, you have not yet cut off my cock for infidelity, which I assume is just because you know I worship the ground you walk on.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes and hit his arse with a pillow while he struggled into his breeches. “You are lucky enough to have the most important cock in the realm. Now -”

A knock on the door interrupted. Not the outer door to Aegon's rooms, but the one to the bedchamber.

Aegon sighed. “Loras!”, he called. “What is it.”

“Orders from the king”, the knight answered through the door. “You are to meet him at the gate in half an hour. Something happened on the other side.”

That wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. Nevertheless, Rhaenys' worry was soon replaced by curiosity as they rode out to the wildling camp, and abated entirely when they found both Dany and Jae in one piece.

The tale they told, on the other hand, was horrific. “... and then”, her brother finished, “the next morning, Sigorn wakes me up and – Creg was just riding into the camp _on Ghost_ , both of them covered in bits of wights. He is sleeping now.”

“That all sounds horrid”, Aegon said. “We are all lucky that you are alive, and -”, he glanced at the bandage around Dany's hand, “mostly unhurt.”

“It was also a valuable lesson,” Ser Arthur mentioned. “The Others can be killed with dragonglass, Dawn, and Valyrian steel.” He nodded to Jae, who had already told them he'd killed one with Longclaw while they'd been separated. “Wights can be stopped with fire, or hacked to pieces with normal weapons – but their parts will keep moving. As such, when fighting them, it is most important to destroy them in a way that renders them immobile. Cut off their legs and crush their bones, remember that their severed hands will try to crawl up your neck and choke you. For fighting wights, a good sharp blade is useful, but one must slice, not stab. Bludgeons would be ideal, and arrows useless unless they are burning.” He paused, and the king nodded. “The Others are fast, and normal weapons barely help; I would expect shields and armour to offer little to no protection either. There, we need reach. Dragonglass tips for arrows, pikes, lances, spears – beyond that, have only the very best swordsmen come near them, and only those with Valyrian steel. Or myself.”

This was probably the most she'd ever heard him speak.

“Give Sarella Sand a quiver full of dragonglass arrows, and the Others are in trouble”, Rhaenys said.

“Quite so”, Ser Jaime agreed. “It does not take the sort of injury that would kill a man, as long as the material is the right one.”

“Excellent”, her father said. “This is all very good to know, and a relief as well, since we have been unable to fashion more than a small blade from dragonglass. Part of the small council is currently travelling to the Wall, and we will inform Lord Baratheon as well as the Lord Commander.”

There was one thing that wasn't clear to Rhaenys yet. “What about the Others and fire?”, she asked. “Do they burn?”

“We do not know”, Dany admitted. “I tried, but it caught the torch before the flame could touch it. Then again, the Other didn't _ignore_ it, which I take to mean it could at least be harmed by fire.”

“There is another question”, Aegon said. “We now know more about how to fight them, and that is good. But how do we _defeat_ them? What is the goal? Is it simply about destroying all the Others? And in that case – how many even are there, and will they all come at once? What I mean is: What if they attack the Wall, bring it down, we kill them all, think we have won... And then they come again when we do not expect them to?”

Jae nodded. “Based on everything we know, there could be a dozen of them, or a million. We have no idea of why they are coming, nor what could make them stop.”

“I had always assumed”, the king said, “that this was where you and Dany come in, as well as the dragons. Decades of study have not brought me any nearer to a clear answer, but this – stopping them for good – must be why you matter in terms of the prophecy. I doubt it is merely about killing a few in one battle.”

They were interrupted by someone clearing his throat outside the tent in lieu of knocking. The man who entered looked unremarkable, but she had already been told this of Mance Rayder.

“Almost the whole family”, he said. “Even without the queens, there are quite a few of you.”

And she hoped there would be more soon – even though Rhaenys suspected that this was not the best of times to have a child, she was increasingly sure that there was no point in waiting any longer. She had undertaken several fertility rituals while still at Winterfell, and timed her visit according to her cycle.

“Once your people come past the Wall, perhaps larger families will be within your reach as well”, Aegon said.

Rayder did not reply to that, and instead sat on the last free stool in the (admittedly generous) tent. “Speaking of families, Styr of Thenn would like to know if you have any suggestions for his son by now.”

Ah. Rhaenys still hadn't shared her thoughts with her father. “More time is needed”, he said simply. “Do try to explain to him that negotiations for a betrothal usually take moons, if not years.”

“Of course, but it would be good if this was settled by the time we come south.” So in just under one moon. “A wedding would make for a cheerful start to it all.”

The king said something vague and noncommittal, and it seemed to Rhaenys as if he was thinking of something else. “Ser Arthur”, he said, “please share your observations with the free folk. We must return to Castle Black, now that we know that you are all well.”

“Something is on your mind”, Aegon said as soon as they were alone with their father, back in his rooms in the King's Tower.

He sighed, looked out of the window, began to pace. “Quite a lot is. Rhaenys, how long would it take for you to fly down to King's Landing?”

She hadn't expected that. “Between two and four days, depending on how often I stop. Taking more breaks would be more comfortable for both Vēzos and myself, but one would be enough, if we have to hurry.”

He hesitated, then said: “Rest tonight – and I mean _rest._ Sleep.” She wondered if he had heard them the night before, and couldn't bring herself to care very much. “Then, on the morrow, the two of you will take Ser Loras and fly down to the capital. Stop twice: Once at Winterfell, to tell the queens, and once in the Vale.”

Aegon asked the obvious question: “Why?”

Their father sat on a chair, and briefly looked conflicted. “I want you to visit the entire realm anyway; to get all the armies moving. You might as well take a detour to the Vale for that purpose, and to take our newest Kingsguard with you. And then, Lord Lannister is getting married on the last day of the year, which means you should visit Casterly Rock as you return.”

“Well, yes”, Rhaenys said. “The question was rather why we would go to King's Landing.”

The king looked at them both, then said: “Because I want wildfire.”

That hadn't been a sentence either of them had ever expected to hear from him – they hadn't even known that there still was wildfire anywhere. Then again, the appeal of having it to fling down from the Wall was obvious.

She had been ready to leave the next day anyway, if only to return to Winterfell. Aegon hadn't, which meant that someone had to pack some of his things while he had a bath.

Rhaenys suppressed a grin as she stood in the door and watched the steward roll up tunics to add into her own large leather bag. “So you are Satin.”

He spun around, briefly appeared in a state of panic, and bowed. “Princess Rhaenys.”

She could've now done quite literally anything – but she wasn't here to toy with the poor man. “There is no need to look so alarmed”, she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “You can continue with your task, as long as you tell me a few things.”

He still was suspicious, but carried on filling the bag. “Which things, Your Grace?”

Rhaenys sat down on the bed, taking a moment to watch him fold up a doublet. “How is he?”, she asked then.

The steward stopped, then glanced at her. “I am afraid I am not sure -”

“My husband has been through much”, she said. “You must know of his captivity, and you will have seen his scars. In the past weeks, you have been alone with him more than anyone else.” Aegon had seemed quite normal to her when they'd met now, but it was clear that he had thrown all of his attention either behind making love or considerations of the coming war. “I know you did not know him before, and cannot judge whether he has changed. But do tell me everything: What does he seem like to you? What does he speak of? How and when did he first take you to bed?”

Satin turned to fully face her, her husband's doublet still in his hands. He frowned, first, looked her over; took his time to decide whether to say anything at all. Rhaenys approved – she wouldn't want someone who'd been so close to Aegon lately to easily speak of him.

Then the decision was made, and he talked. Satin painted the picture of a man who to him appeared distant, calculating, and often melancholy; who never seemed entirely aware of his presence unless they were in bed; who he had never truly seen smile nor laugh. “Then again”, he concluded after having told her everything (and she didn't see a reason to doubt this was all), “I think he generally doesn't trust me, so I'm sure much of it comes from that.”

She thought this through, and came to the conclusion that it sounded convincing. “Why, do you think, did he take you as his lover?”

Satin shook his head. “I believe that is too strong of a word – but to answer Your Grace's question, I think he just likes to fuck – please forgive my language, princess – so he can stop thinking. He's good at it, so I see no reason to complain.”

Rhaenys hadn't expected quite this much insight, but perhaps she should've, considering Satin's former profession.

“I think you may be right”, she said. “Well, I have to thank you for your honesty, and -”

She stopped as she heard steps approaching, and then the door opened. Aegon came in, only half dressed and with his hair wet, and froze as he took in the situation. “I cannot quite shake the feeling that you two were talking about me.”

“Oh, we were just saying how terrible you are in bed.” Rhaenys stood to throw him a cloth for his hair, which was increasingly reaching a rather awkward length.

He rolled his eyes. “I see. Well, Satin, whatever you said to her, I do not mind. If you say anything about me to anyone else, you may unexpectedly fall off the Wall.” Satin opened his mouth to reply, but Aegon went on while he dried his head: “I do not expect to be gone for long, but it will still be a week at least.” After arriving in the capital, they were to set everything in motion so that the wildfire could be brought north – and then travel some more, making a new appointment and attending a wedding on the way. “Am I right in thinking that my absence may put you in a difficult position?”

“Probably.” Satin looked rather unhappy about that, which she thought was fair enough. “I've never been popular, but this won't have helped, and Creg Snow isn't here either.”

Aegon nodded as if this had been obvious from the start. “If there is any sign of trouble, even if it is merely a comment, speak to Ser Andrew.” Since Loras would come with them, he would be the only Kingsguard at Castle Black, though Ser Barristan was on his way from Winterfell alongside the small council. “Do not hesitate to do this. You are not unprotected merely because I have a few things to take care of down south.”

Satin blinked at him. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“There is nothing to thank me for.” Aegon passed Satin the wet cloth and took the doublet he'd been holding, and Rhaenys felt very confused.

She'd never seen him like this, and had no idea what to make of it. Perhaps it was good that they would get a few days together.

Not that they had a lot of time to be alone. They did get as much sleep as they could, flew down to Winterfell, and spent a day with the queens, Sand Snakes, and Starks as well as Marwyn, sharing all the news they had. And then they left again, flying over the snowy northern plains and along the White Knife until they reached White Harbour, passed the Three Sisters, and went up over the mountains.

Absolutely nobody had expected them at the Eyrie, but it wasn't like any lord could refuse his hospitality to them, even if Vēzos' appetite was disturbing to any host.

The still-new Lord Arryn, Elbert, feasted them as lavishly as he could. Of course they knew his children, even though Rhaenys had always thought them quite dull.

“Oh, please, Father”, Alyssa Arryn said as they ate, “ _please_ let me tell Their Graces.”

At six-and-ten, she was the eldest of his three and the only girl, and had been or maybe still was Rhaenys' lady-in-waiting, though she had always ignored that fact as much as he could. “Well, now I have to let you, I suppose”, Lord Arryn said, all feigned resignation.

It was, obviously, about a betrothal. “I am to wed Harry Hardyng!”, she exclaimed.

“That is wonderful, my lady”, Rhaenys said automatically, even though she had absolutely no idea who that was. House Hardyng? She'd never heard of them.

“Our congratulations”, Aegon said, and he likely knew who she was talking about. Loras also gave his well-wishes, but in a tone Rhaenys knew to mean that he was deeply unimpressed.

Then, when the table had been cleared, Alyssa's younger brothers had been sent to bed and she had excused herself as well, Aegon filled up Rhaenys' cup before looking straight at Lord Arryn. “We must steal one of your men, my lord. My father intends for Waymar Royce to join the Kingsguard.”

“Lord Yohn will be pleased”, he said, sounding like he had no problem with that. “A third son. But I thought there were seven knights already?”

“We are seven”, Loras confirmed. “However, Ser Adrian has sustained injuries that will leave his sword arm crippled forever, and the king will release him from his vows as a knight so he may either join the faith or the Citadel, according to his preference.”

His lordship opened his mouth. “Yes”, Rhaenys said, “this is unprecedented, but the times do not allow for anything else.”

He closed it again, then said: “Well, none of this is for me to decide.”

“We are sure His Grace acts wisely”, his wife threw in, which was about the third sentence she'd said all night.

The Arryns had no reason to complain either way, as they were replacing one Vale knight with another. “Thus, we will fly to Runestone in the morning, take Ser Waymar with us, and continue to King's Landing to pass our royal father's orders to Ser Adrian”, Aegon summarised. “Then, we will go to Casterly Rock for the wedding of Lord Lannister and Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

Their hosts expressed their congratulations to Loras, who only nodded. “Then”, Aegon went on, “we will return north, but on the way, we will overfly your beautiful Vale. The views are truly majestic in a way that is difficult to describe – you can see far from the Eyrie, but nothing compares to viewing your mountains from dragonback.” He paused. “This will be in about a week, or perhaps a little more. And when we do this, we expect to see the beauty of your landscape to be only enhanced by very clear signs that all lords of the Vale are readying their armies.”

Lord Arryn took a moment to respond. “Of course, Your Grace”, he then said, speaking too quickly, as if he was trying to make up for the time he'd needed before. “You see, it may not be obvious from above, but preparations are being made all throughout -”

“Make them faster”, Aegon said. “The Others will not wait until the paint on your shields has dried, and it will take long enough for everyone to reach the Wall as it is. Half of Dorne is sailing past the Fingers as we speak, which means that the knights of the Vale will arrive after men who have had to cover twice the distance.”

There wasn't anything that Elbert Arryn could reply to that except for agreeing to do better, and so that was what he said.

“House _Hardyng_?”, Aegon asked once they were alone with Loras, who immediately burst out laughing.

Rhaenys looked back and forth between the two. “Will you let me in on the joke?”

“They are...”, her brother shook his head and poured wine from the flagon he'd asked for, “ _knights_ , my love. Landed knights sworn to House Waynwood; not even a lordly House. I believe that they may have some distant marital ties to the Arryns, but – please. It is absolutely impossible that Alyssa is not already carrying his child, else this would not be happening.”

“Oh, with certainty.” Loras had recovered and took a cup of wine, then drank half of it in one sip. Aegon and Rhaenys had been given splendid rooms by the Arryns, everything hastily put in order while they had been eating, and he could fall onto a seat with truly beautiful carvings. “I have met Harry Hardyng. He is a _complete_ and utter twat – and, he is somehow not a knight, so clearly his family is not rich enough to buy the title despite the fact that he has not earned it.”

While Rhaenys didn't believe that any of this mattered at all, she found herself entertained by Loras' obvious contempt for the man. “So how would someone from a minor knightly House who is somehow not a knight himself be able to impregnate Alyssa _Arryn_?”, she asked.

“He is handsome”, Loras said. “A waste, truly.”

“Well, that would explain it.” Aegon sat, too. “Now, why do you hate him so much? Did you try to bed him?”

Loras snorted, and Rhaenys settled down as well. “I am not you. No; I met him after I had met Renly, at a tourney at Gulltown when I was still a squire.” He shrugged. “He is simply insufferable, and not even good with a sword or a lance. At least that same tourney showed that Waymar Royce is better; he was there as well.”

“He is meant to be”, Rhaenys said. The queens had been in correspondence with Lord Royce for a while, and even though he likely didn't expect them to come just now, he did know that Waymar was to soon don the white cloak. “So do you think that he will do well on the Kingsguard?”

Loras shrugged. “Who knows? Half of us have not been on it for more than a few moons. All I know is that I could not beat Waymar then when I _could_ beat near everyone else who was older than me, so that might be a good sign.”

Smirking, Aegon raised his cup. “To Ser Waymar, then. His great deeds include not being beaten by a squire.”

Rhaenys joined in with the toast, then leaned against her husband. They would find out if he was worthy soon enough, though then it would be too late either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask me why Waymar Royce didn't join the Watch in this scenario. I actually had planned to make him one of the commanders for the choosing, but then that didn't pan out, and I still really wanted him in the story. I know Will doesn't think highly of him but seriously, this guy canonically stood before an Other and said “Dance with me then”, and imo that's not unimpressive.  
> (Alyssa marrying Harry-not-the-heir-in-this-universe is really just funny to me; it doesn't hold any significance)


	42. The South II

_Runestone, the next day_

_Aegon_

“Are you ready to mount a dragon, ser?”, Rhae asked as Vēzos circled above, ready to land before the gates of Runestone. They'd taken their luncheon with the Royces, who appeared very happy with the situation as a whole – and who had clearly made more progress in preparing their forces than the Arryns, which Aegon appreciated.

Ser Waymar eyed the dragon while it descended. “How many can he carry?”

Rhae shrugged. “As many as will fit. Our weight is nothing to him, but the saddle only holds two. You and Ser Loras will share it, as my husband and I are more accustomed to riding without it.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace”, he said, looking absolutely horrified. “My comfort cannot be put before yours, and -”

“Trust her, ser”, Loras interrupted. “You do not want to fall into the Bay of Crabs from a mile up in the sky.”

With that, Vēzos landed. Aegon glanced at Ser Waymar, who stared wide-eyed at the dragon's enormity, and the prince thought that they should likely have larger saddles made, or perhaps just more of them. Any of the dragons could easily carry a dozen. “Magnificent”, the knight said.

“Agreed.” Rhae began walking towards him while Vēzos extended his wing, and Aegon saw Loras watch every single one of Ser Waymar's steps with the eyes of someone looking for a fault.

After all his other new sworn brothers had been more experienced men, he wasn't terribly surprised that his friend would enjoy his relative seniority.

Ser Adrian was not particularly pleased when Aegon met him in White Sword Tower to bring him the news, but not surprised either. “I had hoped to serve you for many more decades”, he said. “But it is clear that I cannot.”

Not with a sword arm that would never fully recover, no. “You have served with the greatest honour”, Aegon said. “Please know that joining either of the other orders is more of a formality – we have a keep for you by the Kingswood.”

It was unprecedented enough that they would release a knight of the Kingsguard at all, so they had agreed that Ser Adrian's future would need to lie with another occupation that would not allow marriage or children. “I do not take oaths as a formality, my prince”, he said. “I shall join the Faith and serve both the gods and my king with all the strength I have.”

He was an excessively honourable man, all things considered. “Your loyalty and diligence will make the best of septons out of you, ser”, Aegon said, then handed him the letter his father had written.

Adrian Waynwood read it, looked very grave, then stood and removed his white cloak. “Please tell the king that I am grateful for all the years he has allowed me to be at your family's side.”

Gods, this one wanted a good entry in the White Book. “Of course”, Aegon said, then repeated a few more times that both he and everyone else in the family thought most highly of Ser Adrian, that the gods would rejoice in finding a servant such as him, and that he would always be welcome at court. It was, overall, the most courteous and respectful conversation he had had in many a moon, which was doubly astonishing if one considered that this man had spent many hours of his life standing behind him while he had plotted and seduced his way through the Red Keep.

After, he met Rhae, who had gone to stock up on any mystical supplies they lacked up north. They watched the castle from the top of the tower while they waited for the High Septon to arrive, and he sighed. “You know, I do not think we even deserved him.”

She blinked. “Explain.”

“Well...” Aegon leaned forward, out the window, inhaling the stench of King's Landing as it was diluted by wind and the smell of the sea, “all these people – they are so _good_. Ser Adrian is the sheer concept of honour packed into a Valeman. And think of the rest of the Kingsguard, and the small council...” He stopped himself, reconsidered. “Alright, most of them are not _that_ good.”

Rhae snorted. “Yes, I believe you are truly just thinking of a handful of knights, here.”

Perhaps. And maybe it was true that to be in love with one's honour didn't necessarily make one a good man. Thinking on that, he said: “Maybe _Loras_ is the best man I know.”

“What?” Rhae shook her head. “I am not sure I can follow you. And why does it even matter?”

“I do not know _if_ it matters”, he admitted. “What I mean is – all he wants is to be with Renly, but instead he keeps true to his vows.”

She was, clearly, unconvinced. “And he said these vows because he craves fame and glory. But truly, are you going to examine the morals of our actions and motivations _now_? It may be too late for that.”

“I have not...” He wasn't even sure what he was getting at; found himself fiddling with the vial full of Tōma's hair that she had given him – Aegon had asked for it, though he didn't even know why. “Never mind; I suppose you are right. We have more important things to do than torture ourselves with considerations of rights and wrongs.” Aegon stared at the serpentine steps across the sunken courtyard, shaking his head to make his thoughts go away.

After a brief moment of silence, he felt Rhae's hand on his arm. “What is bothering you?”

He wasn't even sure. “Everything. Nothing in particular. Perhaps just the need to have several hundred pots of wildfire transported up the entire length of the kingsroad.”

“You are deflecting”, she observed, “but yes. That bothers me, too. At least a few of the carts _will_ explode – Father should have done this years ago, when there was more time.”

Aegon could only hum in agreement. There was so much to keep in mind -

“Do you know what else I worry about?”, Rhae asked, as if to add to the long list of their troubles. “That marriage. Not Tyrion and Margaery, I mean, but the one you promised to the Magnar of Thenn.”

At that, he turned to her, finding himself surprised. “Out of everyone”, Aegon admitted, “I did not expect you to be the one to think much on this.”

“I do not blame you.” Rhae looked – guilty? That was a rare sight. “But I think I have the solution: Alarra.”

Aegon considered that. “That would be perfect, really”, he said.

“Would it?” His wife leaned against him and he drew her closer, wishing that they could both simply enjoy being together without having all these things in the back of their minds. “She _wants_ to marry Torrhen. To be the Lady of Winterfell – she was so glad when she found out about the betrothal. I cannot take this away from her to make her wed some wildling lord who barely speaks Common.”

“So much for considerations of right and wrong.” He kissed her temple. “If it helps us bring the wildlings past the Wall, then that is, to be frank, more important than Alarra's feelings about the matter. And who knows? Maybe she will be happy with him.”

Rhae let out a choked laugh. “Maybe, yes. Maybe she will fall so deeply in love with a man she can hardly speak to that she entirely forgets about what she has wanted all her life.”

No matter the chances of that, Aegon thought it was a very good idea. “You should suggest it to Father and the queens”, he said. “It does not guarantee that it will happen, but we must try. It could save the lives of thousands, and improve the stability of the realm in the long term.”

“I know.” She sighed, then pointed down to the serpentine steps, where they could see a guard running down and waving at them. “I take that to mean that the High Septon has arrived.”

He had. Aegon took Ser Waymar Royce's vows in the throne room, witnessed by those nobles who had remained in the capital. Women and children, mostly, including the Lady Baratheon and her increasingly awful eldest son (apparently, she would not be attending her own brother's wedding).

Loras was there, too. As soon as they'd arrived in the Red Keep, Aegon had given him leave to find Ser Renly – but apparently, the man was already on his way north. Loras wasn't happy that he hadn't told him, though Aegon wasn't sure if or how he could have.

As he fastened the white cloak around the knight's shoulders, Aegon spared a thought for what might have been. In a different reality, they would be busy preparing a large celebration right now – the new century, marking three-hundred years since the Conqueror had united the realm, was only three days away. Rather than large festivities in King's Landing, it was Tyrion who had managed to seize this auspicious day for his wedding – but Aegon didn't mean for him to take up all of the attention.

For now, however, they had something very different to contend with. Not keen on wasting any time, they took off on Vēzos again on the same day, though only for the very short flight to an abandoned sept near King's Landing.

“There is nothing here”, Ser Waymar opined, to which Loras scoffed. The building did look like nothing, to be fair – until they reached the door.

He left these sorts of things to Rhae. She merely stood there, not touching it, and for a few moments it seemed like nothing at all would happen. There were no steps to be heard. Had they been anyone but the very recognisable children of the king, they might have pulled and banged on the door, found it couldn't be moved, and eventually left.

Instead, the door opened, revealing a man wearing peasant's clothes, though Aegon remembered his face and knew he was one of their household guard who had disappeared from the castle a few years ago. The edges of his vision blurred very briefly, making him blink.

He next saw the old sept as it really was: Not derelict at all, but recently reinforced; any cracks in the walls mended. Two nasty-looking scorpions were mounted on the top of the bell tower, which hadn't actually borne a bell in close to twenty years, while windows had been replaced by arrowslits.

“This is not possible”, Ser Waymar said.

Rhae looked at him, smirking. “Oh, you have much to learn, ser. Never forget that you have just sworn to keep the king's secrets.”

Their way inside was accompanied by the insistence that he would never forget his vows. The main floor of the building was housing its guards; filled with bedrolls, a table where they clearly played at cards, empty bottles, and some sort of stew simmering over a hearth. And then they went down into the earth, going further than he would've expected.

“Building all of this took years”, the guard informed them while they made their way down a narrow staircase. “There's a layer of sand packed tight between every floor, and a few feet of it between each cell. They don't hold more than twenty pots each. We're not sure if that would actually stop it from blowing us all up, but we never wanted to try it out either.”

Aegon thought this was understandable. “How likely is it to explode once you move it?”

The guard shot him a dark look. “Not sure, Your Grace. Last time we tested one of them was about three years ago. We just left it out in the sun and it started burning – we'd had it in a barrel of water, but that didn't help. Took hours to burn out.”

“Surely”, Rhae said, “the pyromancers told you how it all works.”

The man shrugged. “As far as they knew, princess. Your royal father always said that he didn't believe they knew half as much as they claimed.” And then, of course, the king had had the guild dissolved. Aegon suspected this had been done rather forcibly.

They reached one of the levels. The guard let them in through a thick steel door, which really just led to even more doors. When he opened one, they could see into a small room; more of a closet, in which exactly twenty small clay pots sat on shelves.

“How many are there?”, he asked.

As it turned out, there were more than a thousand. “That means a lot of dead wights”, Loras said.

That much was true. “And how would you rate the chances of getting all of these up to the Wall without killing anyone?”, Aegon wanted to know.

The guard looked shocked. “Low, Your Grace.”

He could see that. “We do not need all”, he concluded. “The king never _said_ we needed all, only that we should transport a sufficient number.” But how to tell? “This calls for a demonstration.”

The green flames shot up high at first, then rapidly spread over the ground. One of the guardsmen threw water at them, careful to not create a stream, and the water, too, _burned_. Next, a fistful of sand was thrown, which predictably did nothing, until another man dropped a whole large sack of it from up on high, choking the flames.

“It is like dragonflame”, Rhae said. “Perhaps less hot, but just as difficult to extinguish. I wonder how it will act in the snow.”

So did Aegon. “Do you still have the pyromancers' writings?”, he asked.

“We don't.” The guard seemed surprised that he would even think such a thing. “The king took them, and we never dared to ask what happened after.”

Of course he had. Aegon could only hope that he hadn't destroyed them, because to lose the secret to something as powerful as wildfire would be a terrible mistake.

Then again, he wouldn't put it past his father to have thrown everything into the Blackwater (or burned it, more fittingly). That meant that there might be a benefit in keeping some of what they had. “We will take half”, he decided.

Rhae thought on this, ultimately declaring that they should take an amount that was divisible by three. It was close enough, and Aegon wasn't interested in arguing about magical numbers. “Fine. How long will it take to get them to the Wall?”

“How long does it take for a normal cart?”, the guard asked back. “Double that, Your Grace. And consider that there'll need to be some distance between each cart.”

Oh, gods. He took this to mean somewhere between two and three moons. The look on Rhae's face told him that she thought the same: They should have done this much, much earlier. Years earlier, ideally.

“Do it as quickly as possible”, he said, “while keeping the men transporting it from undue danger.” They definitely did not want any inextinguishable explosions on the kingsroad. “What will you need? More carts and more men?”

The answer was yes, of course. They'd have to be the most trusted of men, too, as anyone running off with a few jars of wildfire could only spell disaster.

It took them some time to pore over the minutiae of the transport before returning to the Red Keep. Then they spent the night in the castle, and it was _strange_ – Aegon hadn't been back here since before the battle at Pyke three moons ago. Yet the food was still the same (the cooks made them snake venom stew, which they both appreciated after all the bland northern fare), the servants acted like they'd never left, their steps echoed through Maegor's just as they always had. The taste of the wine was as familiar as the smell of his sheets, and Aegon felt as if he had lost something, so he held Rhae close while they drifted to sleep and thought that the only loss he wouldn't be able to bear at all would be hers.

The next morning, they went to Rhae's gardens. It wasn't nearly as cold as up north, but markedly chilly, especially with the brisk wind coming in from the bay. “Look at this”, his wife sighed, running her hand over what was left of a hedge and plucking a single brown leaf. “Sad, truly.”

Aegon looked to where they'd celebrated their betrothal. “And yet, it could have been beautiful. Two days until the new century – imagine what kind of feast we would have had.”

“Ah, yes.” She turned to him, grinning. “A celebration for the ages. The smallfolk would have been invited into the castle, they would have put on one of Mother's plays, and we would have entertained the young nobles. The night would not have ended until half of them would have fallen asleep in their drunkenness and the other half had gone to bed with each other.” Then she shrugged and took his hand. “We will simply have to do this after the war.”

“I cannot wait.” To be fair, that victory feast was something to look forward to.

He let himself be led to the secret part of the gardens. As expected, all the plants were dead, which Rhae wasn't too happy about. “A shame. There would have been little use for them now, but still.”

“Who knows?” He sat down on a bench made of spun iron. “Perhaps you could have poisoned all the Others.”

“Yes, very funny.” She plucked a few dried-out leaves and crushed them between her fingers. “Do you think they eat?”

It was hard to imagine, from what they'd heard. “If they do, it is surely horrible. They only feast on the hearts of babes, or something along those lines.”

“That sounds right.” She sat down next to him. “Now, tell me what is on your mind.”

How much time did they have? “Your beauty”, he tried. Rhae only looked at him – he hadn't really believed that would work.

“Everything”, he then said, just as he had yesterday. “There is _so much_. The war, of course, which we know will determine the fate of all of mankind, and yet we know next to nothing of our enemy. And all the things that come with it; the wildlings and the lords and the wildfire...” He looked around the garden; at all of Rhae's dead plants, and felt strangely heartbroken about them. “We have to win this, and we have to keep the lords in line while we do it, and get a hundred-thousand wildlings past the Wall and keep _them_ at peace, but we also know the Wall will likely fall, and then there is what comes after, because whatever happens things will need to be rebuilt and the lands to the north will need to be dealt with – a task Father gave _me_ , and I appreciate that, but gods it is a lot – and yet half of these nights I still think I'm in the hull of the _Silence_ and other nights I see Tōma or Alyn, dead, and then I remember that we are meant to have a child and what if you die? I think my heart would explode like a sept with a cellar full of wildfire.”

He couldn't stop talking, now, one disaster after another unfolding before his eyes. “Or what if the child dies? Or I; what then? We came close enough to that already, and I could not bear to leave you here if my death would do to you even half of what yours would do to me. Or – Father? Bloodraven showed me my own coronation, you know. Or any of the others. Fuck, Viserys already died – did you know I have hardly thought of him? Somebody killed our uncle and I can barely spare a thought.”

That was all. Aegon suddenly felt empty; not hollow, but strangely serene. He'd said his piece.

Rhae didn't reply for a while, but simply laid her head on his shoulder and put her arm under his. “Anyone”, she finally said, “would crumble under all the pressure placed upon you. But you do not. You are doing it better than any other man could. And – you saw your coronation! That means you will not die too soon. Instead, you will be the best king the realm has ever seen, and I will be proud to stand at your side.”

That made him want to smile, and yet, it was deeply confusing. He looked at her with an exaggerated frown. “How pathetic did I sound for you to feel the need to be this nice?”

She groaned. “I will stop if you find it so disturbing.”

“Please do.” And yet, Aegon couldn't keep himself from grinning now, and was overcome with love for her.


	43. The South III

_Beyond the Wall, the last day of the year 299 AC_

_Daenerys_

“Jae!”, Cregan Snow shouted from outside their tent. “The king is coming.”

Her husband was presently closing the laces on one of the many layers she wore as a bodice. “Rayder's tent, or ours?”, he asked back.

“Rayder's. I was asked to be there, too; we are all breaking our fast together.”

“We will come soon”, Dany said, and they heard his steps as he left.

Dany turned her head to try to see Jae while she closed the fastenings on her third skirt. “What if he mentions the betrothal?”

He cleared his throat. “We could act surprised?”

Rhaegar had already told them on his last visit that Alarra and Torrhen Stark were to wed. Jae had not, so far, had brought himself to tell Cregan.

As he was finished with the laces, Dany reached for her vair coat. She wouldn't need anything else for the few steps to Mance Rayder's tent. “You should have told him before, but now it is too late either way. Do you think he would have ever expected anything else?”

Jae fastened his own cloak around his shoulders, this one sable. “Perhaps not, but he will still not like it. And it would have been more bearable if she was to wed quite literally anyone else.” He paused. “Exempting myself, perhaps.”

Dany struggled to imagine that. “Well, he and I could have been joined in being unhappy about _that_.”

He shook his head and held open the tent flap for her. “As if that would have stopped me from being with you.”

They ate black pudding, bacon, sausages, boiled eggs, and oatcakes with honey, all washed down with thick, dark ale. Dany had never been one for hearty breakfasts before, but beyond the Wall, she had finally begun to understand the appeal. Jae, of course, had always enjoyed northern dishes.

Though they were far from being starved, this was an unusually rich meal for the wildling camp. Even stranger was that they having it alongside not only Rhaegar and Mance Rayder, but also Creg and Styr of Thenn. The Kingsguard had all remained outside.

In a way, she wasn't terribly surprised when the king revealed the reason for this meeting, and Rayder's face told her he already knew. “Please tell the Magnar that we have found a bride we believe to be suitable for his son.”

Mance Rayder translated. Dany thought that he was easier to understand than some of those who'd grown up speaking the Old Tongue. Of course, Styr asked who the bride would be.

And then Rhaegar said one of the last names Dany would have expected to hear in this moment: “Alarra Stark.”

She froze, her cup of ale suspended on the way to her mouth. Cregan looked stunned. “What?”, Jae said.

Rhaegar sent him a look that told him to _not say another word for the rest of this meeting_ , and even Mance Rayder seemed surprised. “Stark”, the Magnar echoed.

As his king explained, Dany was pleased to find she could understand it all. “She is the daughter of the younger brother, but she was meant to marry the older one's son. Her father is Eddard Stark, and her mother is from a very old family in the south. Both are very close to their king.” He paused, looking to Rhaegar with obvious doubt. “It is a better offer than I had -” She didn't know the last word in itself, but assumed it was something along the lines of _expected_.

She felt dazed. “Good”, the Magnar said, satisfied. “How old is this girl?”

Dany almost replied, but held herself back. Through the cumbersome process of translation, Styr of Thenn learned that Alarra was six-and-ten years old. “Is something wrong with her?”, he asked Rayder then.

This lead to Rhaegar's assuring him that she was perfectly suited in every way, which took several rounds of conversation. All the while, Dany was overwhelmed with disbelief: Alarra and Sigorn? How in all seven hells had the Starks been convinced to agree to this?

Jae's face was still and Cregan poured himself another cup of ale, looking several shades paler than he had before.

“In this case”, Mance Rayder concluded, “the Magnar agrees. He wants for me to add that he truly hopes that you are not lying to him.”

“I would never dream of such a thing”, Rhaegar said. Dany still couldn't wrap her mind around it – was this some sort of trick?

But they all stood and said their goodbyes. “Father”, Jae said. “A word, if you please.”

Cregan had gone off somewhere, looking rather lost, a worried Ghost hard on his heels. In their own tent, they both stood and simply stared at the king.

“It is a very good solution if you think about it”, he finally said.

Jae opened his mouth, then closed it again. Dany, too, wasn't quite sure what to say, so she settled on: “How did the Starks agree to this?”

Rhaegar looked around the tent, which wasn't in the tidiest state (it was very strange to live without servants), then had to remove Longclaw in its scabbard as well as one of Jae's jerkins from a stool so he could sit. “Two days hence”, he said, “Rhaenys and Aegon spoke to me as well as the queens through the glass candle, making the suggestion.”

“ _Aegon”_ , her husband groaned, “I swear I will -”

“It was Rhaenys' proposal”, the king interrupted, which surprised both of them. Even more confused than before, Dany decided to simply sit down on their pile of furs. “Elia and I were immediately taken with the idea, Lyanna of course was not – mostly because she knew it would fall upon her to convince her brothers, I believe. But she did.”

“How”, Dany repeated, shooting a look at Jae as he was pacing and emphatically patting the space next to her. It did make him sit down.

Rhaegar seemed terribly smug about the whole thing. “Because Aegon also had a few ideas. See, somebody will need to keep order in the lands that are now beyond the Wall, and the Magnar of Thenn would appear to be a good candidate. The Thenns are a people who can understand our ways -”

“The Thenns”, Jae said, “are only one of many. You can try to give control to Styr or Sigorn as your bannerman all you like, but they will still need to contend with the entire rest; the _free folk_. They will not give a rat's arse for any of that.”

Rhaegar nodded. “It is no certainty, which was my reason for not saying anything of this to the Magnar.”

“Is”, Dany asked, “Lord Eddard aware that it is no certainty?”

“Knowing him, perhaps not. Do not look at me like that, Jaehaerys; if your mother can understand the necessity of this, then so can you. Well, beyond that, Torrhen Stark will likely marry Alys Karstark – which the Karstarks have not yet been asked about, but I cannot imagine that they will decline – while Sansa will wed Edric, thus joining the two branches of House Stark after all.”

“Gods, I need to find Creg”, Jae said after a pause.

Rhaegar inclined his head. “You are aware that his feelings on the matter, whatever they may be, cannot factor into these decisions.”

 _What of Alarra?_ , Dany wanted to know, but she understood just as well that this didn't matter either. She had always known that the fate of a highborn lady was to wed for the purpose of an alliance – it only appeared cruel that she had counted herself so lucky for a short while.

“Thenn is a”, Sigorn said, and then used a word she didn't understand. When she asked, he gesticulated. “Mountains here, here, and here. We are in between.”

“A valley”, she said in Common, and he repeated the word slowly.

They were both learning from this conversation. She next found out the words for mining, ore, tin, copper, and bronze, though she was sure she would quickly forget most of them.

Around them, something like a feast was taking place. They had set up a large fire in the middle of the camp, with many of the elders and clan leaders in attendance.

“Do you want to go there?”, Dany asked in the Old Tongue, as she wasn't sure how to say ‘return’. “After the war?”

“Yes”, he said. “It is our home. We need to build it again.”

She tried to imagine Alarra in the northernmost lands of all, as far removed from court as was physically possible.

“It has been destroyed?”, she asked. “By the cold ones?” The free folk and the Thenn alike had a multitude of names for the Others.

Sigorn's expression darkened considerably. “We had to burn many of the huts, with all our dead inside. Then we moved south.”

She couldn't even imagine what had happened to them. Dany had never seen a single woman of the Thenn, and did not want to ask on what was meant to be a cheerful evening. “You will have a woman when you go to the valley.”

Taking pity, he told her how to say ‘go back’. “Alarra of Stark”, Sigorn said, making the name sound quite different. “Do you know her?”

“Yes. She is very _narrag._ ” Dany thought that this meant ‘beautiful’, but he shook his head.

“The valley is _narrag._ A woman is _senag._ ”

If Rhaegar and Aegon wanted to involve the Thenns in the governance of an enlarged realm, she thought, then somebody would need to write down all these things about the Old Tongue.

Next, she learned another new word, as Sigorn asked her if Alarra was kind. “Yes”, she only said, thinking that this probably wasn't the first word she would have used to describe her, but she didn't know any of the others in the Old Tongue and doubted that Sigorn would have known them in Common.

“Beautful and kind”, Sigorn repeated. “Many other men must want her.”

“Oh, yes. They will not. Her father...” She didn't know how to say it. “You know what I mean.”

Sigorn only nodded. “He will keep her safe, and then I will. Many women wanted to be the next Magnar's wife.” He hesitated. “Then the cold ones came.”

Oh, gods. The terrible suspicion she'd already had – that there was a clear reason she'd never seen a woman of the Thenn – was all but confirmed. “They only took the women?”

“The men were in the mines, or hunting. When we came back...” He trailed off.

Dany didn't want to pry. “Thenn will be – built again.”

Sigorn nodded gravely. She still had trouble wrapping her mind around how he and Alarra would be able to interact, and how long it would take for them to learn to speak to each other, and what would even happen to Sigorn's people at all.

She glanced towards the fire, not sure what else she could say. Cregan Snow was staring into the distance while petting his giant wolf, Jae was speaking to several of the leaders of the free folk (including Val, who had seemed to have taken Jarl's death rather well), Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur stoically watched over them all. The latter had voiced no opinion on his niece's new betrothal, or at least not to them.

At the very least, Dany thought while Styr of Thenn was walking towards them, it would be a very interesting match. She only hoped that she could speak to Alarra before the wedding.

_Casterly Rock_

_Rhaenys_

As could be expected of the union between the two most wealthy Houses in the realm, it was all a rather lavish affair. It seemed like every part of the castle was covered in gold and silken roses, the port below showed no more traces of the battle, and the autumn sun bathed the festivities in a warm hue.

Tyrion hadn't been expecting them and they hadn't expected to be there. Aegon said that the rooms they were given had to have been hastily vacated by Lord and Lady Tyrell, and Rhaenys hoped that it wasn't too obvious that their gifts had been quickly picked out of what they had in the Red Keep. Since this meant a set of beautiful jewellery for Margaery and an original text by Septon Barth for Tyrion, they surely would have no reason to complain.

“I wish I could read their thoughts”, Aegon whispered while they watched Margaery kneel so that Tyrion could drape the Lannister wedding cloak around her.

So did Rhaenys. “He wants someone to want him”, she replied. “But does she?”

Margaery had gone far in her attempt to wed Aegon, but had it been because she'd wanted _him_ or because she'd wanted to be queen? Rhaenys could easily imagine that it had been a bit of both, but which part weighed more would matter greatly now. In the absence of a royal marriage, becoming the Lady of Casterly Rock was a large price.

“She _can_ want him”, Aegon replied. “If she lets herself. I have always believed that Tyrion must be quite good in bed.”

The couple pledged their love and exchanged a brief, sept-appropriate kiss. As the septon proclaimed them man and wife in the sight of gods and men, neither of them looked terribly enthusiastic.

“I am very glad you came”, Tyrion told them hours later. “It means there is somebody to talk to who is not one of the lickspittle lords of the Westerlands, nor trying to constantly test me like everyone from the Reach.”

“You could try speaking to your wife”, Rhaenys said. Margaery was dancing with Loras while Ser Waymar stood guard behind them. “I believe that would make for a good start to your marriage.”

He had a deep sip from a cup made of solid gold. “Oh, I have spoken to her before, even after the betrothal. It will take a few moons until she starts being honest with me.” He narrowed his eyes. “I take your presence to mean that I do not have that kind of time, as you should be too busy to be paying curtesy visits to old friends.”

“Quite so.” Aegon leaned forward. “I hate to do this, but I will need to steal all of your thunder on the morrow. Speeches need to be made, lords must be inspired – you understand.”

“Everyone to the Wall”, Tyrion said. “Far be it from me to interfere with our king's commands. My men have been preparing, as have all my lords, and most of us will be able to leave within the week.”

They raised their cups to that. “This is what makes you the most cherished of our bannermen”, Aegon said.

“I am sure you say that to all of us.” Tyrion looked back to the dancers. “Not much time to enjoy my marriage, then, but I cannot say I mind too much. What about Ser Loras; should I expect him to slit my throat once I have made it north?”

“Loras would never kill someone that way”, Rhaenys said. “And I believe that he is simply glad that she made a good match.” She had no idea if Tyrion knew anything about the state of Margaery's maidenhood, but was quite sure that he wouldn't care too much either way. Not only had they made certain she'd had Marwyn's moon tea distillate afterwards, but it had also been too long for her to be pregnant without showing at this point.

“Oh yes, very good.” Tyrion drank more, and she was tempted to take his wine away just like she had before the battle. “Wealth, power, and a disfigured dwarf. I assume the only reason Lord Tyrell agreed to this was that I only asked for a rather symbolic dowry.”

While he had never been an attractive man, his injuries now made him difficult to look at, though Rhaenys tried her best not to show this. There was a bulging scar all across his face, not to speak of the fact that half his nose was missing.

It was impossible to pretend that this wasn't the case. “She will need to learn to see past your looks”, Aegon declared instead. “We all know her well enough to understand she is drawn to power. You, disfigured dwarf that you are, control the entire Westerlands. That will count for something.”

“These lords make it too easy.” He gestured towards the celebration in general and rolled his eyes. “Though I do need heirs; there are hardly any Lannisters left that matter at this point, and I would rather fight the Others by myself than give the Rock back to Kevan. Speaking of my family – I would have appreciated it if you had brought Jaime.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “He is currently guarding Dany and Jae beyond the Wall, but you can meet once they bring the wildlings south.”

Tyrion stared at her. “None of what you just said makes any sense to me, princess. We will need to have a meeting on the morrow, when I am sober.”

“We will.” Aegon looked around – the feast had been going on for quite a while. “Will there be a bedding?”

“Absolutely not.” Tyrion drained his cup and slammed it down on the table. “I will not be undressed before all of these nobles; it is bad enough that my wife will need to see me.” He sighed, looking not unlike he had before the battle. “I suppose that is something I will not be able to avoid.”

They didn't know how the wedding night had gone, but neither Tyrion nor Margaery seemed particularly disturbed the next morning, so Rhaenys took that to mean that it could've been worse.

The princess caught her just as all had finished a large breakfast; before they would have a private talk with Tyrion and then convene everyone for Aegon's speech. “Lady Lannister”, Rhaenys said, smiling. Margaery very briefly looked surprised. “Walk with me, if you will.”

Due to differing views on who should be the one to wed Aegon, they hadn't always seen eye to eye. Now, however, she was Tyrion's wife, and Rhaenys didn't want any old grudges to complicate matters for anyone involved.

She had absolutely no idea as to how she should go about building a new relationship with her. It was worth trying, however.

“I know there are quite beautiful gardens somewhere here”, she said as they left the Great Hall, hooking her arm under Margaery's. “Unfortunately, I do not remember how to get there.”

“Neither do I, Your Grace”, she replied, still startled. “Though I suppose that this is my castle now.”

“Then we shall get lost together!”, Rhaenys declared cheerfully, thinking that this would be the kind of thing Dany would say.

They chatted politely while making their way through one ostentatious corridor after another, commenting on the splendour of the festivities, the beauty of Margaery's gown, and just how much she appreciated the jewellery. She was wearing one of the pieces; a bracelet made of gold and jade, just like the entire set – they'd been quite sure that it had come into the family through the Velaryons.

They didn't find the gardens, but did stumble upon the Golden Gallery, which was exactly what the name implied. “I shall need to get to know this castle”, Margaery said.  
“I am sure you will, my lady.” She examined a large chalice that was covered in diamonds. “If you ever find yourself in a room where nothing is gilded, you will know you have accidentally wandered into the servants' quarters.”

The other woman gave a practiced laugh. “I will make note of that. Tell me, Your Grace...”, Rhaenys almost expected her to say _why we are even speaking right now_ , “Lord Lan-, no, my lord husband has mentioned that Prince Aegon will address the lords today. Is this about the war?”

“Of course.” She opened the visor on a golden suit of armour, somewhat hoping to find the skull of a long-dead Lannister behind it, but it was empty. “Everything must be about the war.”

Margaery nodded in deferential agreement. “Does this mean we can expect the men to move north soon?”

“In a week, if all goes well.” Rhaenys let go of the golden gauntlet (the armour wasn't gilded but made from massive gold, and possibly the most ridiculous thing she'd ever seen) to turn to her, curious to see her reaction.

She hadn't expected Margaery to look so shocked. “So soon?”, she asked, voice high, then cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I had hoped to be able to spend more time with my husband, but of course Your Grace is right that the war must take precedence over all else.”

Rhaenys tried to make sense of this reaction. “I am glad that you like the Lord Lannister so well, but I am sure you will find ways to pass the time. There is the Rock to explore, as well as Lannisport, and my lady will be able to use this time to establish yourself in the Westerlands.”

Still, Margaery looked pale, taking a moment to stare at a tapestry made from golden threads (what else?). Quite a long moment, in fact.

“Are you unwell, my lady?”, Rhaenys asked when she couldn't stand it anymore.

Margaery shook her head, then turned to her and spoke very quickly. “Your Grace. I know you have no love for me, and I would usually not ask your help in this, but – I _must_ have a child soon, and as it emerges, I must conceive within the week.” The princess wanted to interrupt to point out that Tyrion was meant to come back eventually, but didn't need to: “There is a real chance my husband might die, and then what? I am wed now, and too many people knew I was no maid before this because my cousins _cannot_ keep their stupid little mouths shut. Am I meant to be a childless widow, only fit to wed the third son of one of my father's bannermen?”

She came closer, eyes shining with an intensity Rhaenys had never seen in her before. “I can either be the wife of Lord Lannister, or our infant's regent. These are the possibilities I can bear, and I know I am not the only one who does not want Ser Kevan to gain the Rock. You are said to have knowledge many others do not possess, princess, and as such I ask – if you would like me to I will _beg_ – for your help. Not for my own sake, but for the realm's, and for the love your family bears for my husband – even for Loras' sake, if you wish and if that means anything to you.” She stopped, sighed deeply, and concluded: “Please help me, Rhaenys.”

Well. She certainly had not foreseen any of _this_.

“I can”, the princess said. Doing this would certainly contribute to improving their relationship.

Then again, why would she need Margaery as a friend when she could also have something more binding? “But for me to do this”, she continued, “the ritual will need to include a holy vow of your loyalty and devotion – to me. This will not impact you most of the time, but it will make it physically impossible for you to ever move against me, or to disobey my commands.” She inclined her head. “In exchange, you are guaranteed to conceive, provided that you spend most of this week in bed with your husband.”

She had done much the same, and was hopeful that it meant the future king was now growing inside her.

Margaery only barely hesitated. “Fine”, she said. “Can you do it right now?”

She could not. Instead, they filled Tyrion in on anything he needed to know, Rhaenys quickly told Aegon about the entire conversation she'd had, and then he gave a modified version of the speech he'd held in Winterfell. The lords of the Westerlands and the Reach weren't quite as preoccupied with the wildlings as those of the North had been, but did need to be reminded of just why this was a problem that would impact them at all.

As such, it was a busy day, especially as they meant to depart in the evening. Immediately after the speech, they went down into the bowels of the Rock, Loras tagging along so somebody would be able to help them out if she exhausted herself. They found a nice empty cavern, as she'd hoped.

“Loras, wait outside.” While there wasn't really an outside in that sense – there was no door – he understood her meaning and they heard his steps move away.

Rhaenys looked towards Margaery. “You should know that in order to be most effective, this will require you touching yourself.”

She blinked at her. “As in... _touching_ myself ?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “Alternatively, _I_ can do it for you.” Sarella had helped her back in Winterfell, of course.

“Oh, gods, no. One Targaryen having both physically and metaphorically fucked me is enough for a lifetime.”

Rhaenys burst out laughing at how crass and unexpected that sentence had been. She hadn't thought that Margaery would agree to the second option, but then again, it would have been quite funny.

She had Margaery strip down to her shift and kneel before her, then drew both their blood for the vow. Once that was done, she performed an invocation of the Mother before switching to a more Valyrian paradigm.

In a way, her giving Margaery very precise instructions in pleasuring herself and timing the end of the spell with her climax wasn't terribly far away from being physically involved, but it if helped her retain a shred of her pride, then Rhaenys would let her keep it.

“Let us please never speak of this again”, she said afterwards.

There were many crude replies she could've come up with, but Rhaenys reined herself in. “That will be my decision.” She felt weak and called out: “Ser Loras! Come help me back to the castle. And you, my lady – go find your husband; he will gladly assist you in conceiving that heir.”


End file.
